Keeping With the Enemy
by Haleine Delail
Summary: Something is after the Doctor (of course), and it will not hesitate to use his friends to get to him. Can he work out which of his friends it's using? Trauma can act as a catalyst for revealing it, but doing harm isn't exactly the Doctor's style. To what lengths will he go, in order to find out?
1. Chapter 1

**Hi all! Something new. The bunnies will not die, and they're all Ten/Martha fans!**

 **And in fact, if you've been paying attention to my "work" over the past years, you'll know that I rarely write a piece that's not about the Tenth Doctor and Martha Jones, and usually their relationship (or lack thereof). This one is no exception. Although, my previous story had the relationship at the forefront sci-fi on the back burner... this one is the opposite. It's mostly about running from aliens, and somewhat about love and angst. At least, that's the plan. Sometimes the love / angst stuff gets away from me.**

 **But I realized when I began the outline on this, I've never really written anything for Donna! That is to say, I've only ever made her a peripheral character for my own purposes... she's never been at the forefront, as the Doctor's companion. Well, it's time that changed! She has a fun voice to write for, so I'm giving it a shot!**

 **So, please enjoy!**

* * *

ONE

An ancient, unknowable but ever-present connection was coming to fruition somehow. Not that it ever really went away. It wasn't the first time she had seen it, but it hadn't yet ceased both to amaze and vex her a bit.

The Doctor circled the console, flying his timeless vessel to her next (as-yet unnamed) destination, taking a breather from the pulse-pounding adventures he was wont to stumble into. In his slow pace round the controls, he stopped moving when he reached the Hiluvan circuit board. Each toggle on the board had a small point of light that shone through the space between the switch and its anchor, and the panel lit up like Christmas, when the blue Police Box was in flight. What was glimmering behind them was the Heart of the TARDIS, the piece of the Vortex that allowed her to navigate time and space. It was the part of her that communicated with the world around her, especially with the Doctor.

Points of light, points of Heart. A few dozen of them, pulling him in for a silent chat, perhaps…

His Companion watched him, and wondered if some conundrum concerning the controls themselves was proving so riveting that he couldn't take his eyes away. Though, she reckoned, apart from the pull of the TARDIS, she knew some of what was actually bothering him, given the frenetic adventure they'd just had, and the mass destruction they'd just witnessed.

"Doctor?" she said.

"Mm?" he answered, absently, never looking away from the circuit board.

She suspected he hadn't really heard her, but had answered "Mm?" almost as an autonomic response to the frequency of her voice in the air. She'd been told that she had an annoying voice. Not that _he_ was exactly James Earl Jones.

"Doctor?" she said, a little louder.

"Mm?" he answered again, absently.

"Look at me."

There was a pause, while she waited to see if her words and their meaning would sink in. "What?" he said.

He then seemed to have to _peel_ his gaze away from the Hiluvan circuit board, and it came to rest on her. Then all at once he seemed to come to, and his eyes widened and seemed to genuinely focus on her.

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "What?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, of course," he said. "Always."

She crossed her arms over her chest, and gave him her best _gimme a break_ stare, and said, "Seriously."

"Yeah, seriously."

She sighed heavily, as though his obtuseness were _such_ a burden to her. "Okay whatever," she said. "But talk to me, Doctor. Tell me more about this _fixed point_ stuff. I mean, it sounds bonkers."

Now it was his turn to sigh. He had attempted to explain it to her the previous day, a bit on-the-fly, the concept of an event that _must_ happen. Most times, as she knew, he had some wiggle room, to save people, stop the horror, be the hero. But days like yesterday in Pompeii, something in his gut just said, "This must be." A Time Lord, as he'd told her, can see the universe for all the threads and connections, causes, effects, what's possible, and what must never come to pass. He'd hoped that breathing the words, "That's the burden of a Time Lord," to her might make her back off. But Donna Noble didn't just _back off._

"It's not bonkers," he protested, grumpily. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

"I just… I don't understand how you know that Vesuvius exploding was a fixed point, but, say, the Hindenburg disaster is not."

"How do _you_ know it's not?"

"Is it?" she asked, her voice jumping two pitches.

"No, of course not," he answered.

"So… could we just go stop it happening? Save all those people dying?"

"Best not."

"Why?"

"Because, Donna," he said. "I don't just flit about _looking_ for trouble, contrary to popular belief. And I'm not a bloody super-hero."

"You wouldn't have to be. Just tell all the passengers to shuffle into the TARDIS before the thing blows."

"No, Donna, it would be an abuse of my… oh, hello."

"What, oh, hello? Hello, what?"

"Don't you hear that?" he asked.

She listened, and now noticed a lower-pitched alarm sounding, beneath the screech of the TARDIS' usual gear-grinding. "Now you mention it, yeah. What is that?"

"It's a potential security breach," he said, as he pulled the computer screen round, so that he could see it.

"A _potential_ security breach? As opposed to an _actual_ security breach?"

"Yeah," he said, scowling at the screen. "The TARDIS is letting me know that there are instruments in the area that could penetrate the forcefield and airlock surrounding us."

"What? This is a TARDIS! How is that even possible?" she asked, with rather a high-pitched shriek.

 _Wow,_ she thought. _My voice_ is _annoying._

"Well," he muttered, typing in commands. "Yeah. But to be honest, flying the TARDIS is nigh on impossible, unless you're a Time Lord, but the standard physical security measures surrounding her are not that sophisticated. There's a handful of civilisations in the universe that could pull them down with their technology or their weapons, et cetera."

"And one of them has a ship in the neighbourhood?"

"Yep," he responded, pushing the screen away, and now making adjustments to the controls on the console itself.

"Do you think it's a coincidence?" she asked. "Or are they looking for you?"

"I don't know," he said, shrugging, still distracted. "I've just changed course, though. And we're going to find out if they want me, or just stumbled into this sector of the universe."

"How do we do that?" she wondered.

"Hold onto something," he warned.

"Oh, blimey," she whined, getting up off the stool. She braced herself with her arms around the railing on the outside of the centre platform. "What are you going to do?"

"This!" he said, throwing a hand-toggle into place with flourish.

With that, the TARDIS accelerated quickly, and within five seconds, was travelling at break-neck speed, through the cosmos.

Donna screamed "Doctor!" as loud as she could, so surprised and frightened was she by the impact. "What the hell are you doing?"

He did not answer, he simply held onto the console for dear life, and reached out slowly for the screen once more. He pulled it toward him.

"Damn it," he hissed. "They're following!"

"They're following us at this speed?" she shouted. "What, are they mental?"

"All right then," the Doctor said, more to himself than anyone else. "If we can't shake them off this way, then we'll have to go to plan B. Sorry old girl."

"Did you _seriously_ just call me _old girl_?" Donna cried out. "You're gonna pay for that one later, space man!"

"I wasn't talking to you!" he snapped.

And again, he threw something into gear, and the TARDIS slowed down considerably, so as to allow both of them to move about, without having constantly to hang onto something. Donna returned to the console, and the Doctor took his place at the computer.

"Okay, here they come. I'm really, really, sorry about this," he muttered, staring at the screen. He did some quick typing, and then said. "Might want to brace yourself again, Donna."

Without asking questions, Donna resumed clinging to the railing. Within seconds, the TARDIS was jostled, _hard,_ as though it had crashed. The box tumbled end-over-end, so quickly that the vessel did not have time to compensate properly for the change in gravity, and so both humanoids inside were pulled off their feet, screaming, momentarily, before gravity kicked in again, and they landed back upon the metal floor.

"What just happened?" she asked, loudly, as usual.

"I boosted the forcefield round the TARDIS," the Doctor answered, once the madness had stopped. "They just bounced right off us. Sent us, and them, careening off in opposite directions, like billiard balls."

"You had a forcefield that they can't penetrate, all along? Why haven't we been using it?" she wondered, straightening her teal and white top, and nervously fluffing her hair.

He explained at a million miles per hour, "It's a rare type of technology, stolen, ages ago, from the Balm-Zepples. Their domed city was absolutely impenetrable to every known society in the universe. Unfortunately, when their own people turned hostile and factions of radicals sprang up and started attacking from within, they called for help, but no-one could get inside to help. Eventually, the planet fell."

"Happy story."

"The point is, the Time Lords finally tried to intervene at the computer-level but by then it was too late," he said. "So, when the dust settled, the High Council of Gallifrey ordered an investigation into _how_ the dome could keep us out. Once they got their answers, they scavenged the technology, and outfitted the next generation of TARDISes with it. That would be the Type-40 line. Trouble is, it's not of Gallifreyan origin, and the engineers hadn't yet worked out how to make it energy-efficient, so it drains the hell out of her, when we use it. Some of the later models were able do it without too much fallout, but not this one. That's why I only use it once in a great blue moon." He patted the console, as though to comfort the vessel.

Donna noticed then that the TARDIS' gears were making a weak, sickly sound. It was as though her usual noise was being played back on a cassette tape, on a slow setting.

"Ooh," she said, pulling a face, and stroking the console now, herself. "I heard that! Poor thing."

"Yeah," he sighed. "She's going to need a rest. But not before we find out who was chasing us, and where they're going next."

"Really?" Donna asked, incredulously. "She can do that, even now?"

"Should be able to do. This sort of thing is easy for her," he told her, once more typing in commands. And indeed, in just a few seconds, a _ping_ came from somewhere on the console. The Doctor smiled widely. "Ah, see? That's my girl! She's found them already! Let's track them down, yeah?"

One more large toggle thrown into place, and TARDIS began to travel much faster, though not at a speed that required bracing oneself.

"So, now _we're_ following _them_?"

"Yeah," the Doctor confirmed, keeping track of progress on the computer screen. After two or three minutes, he said, "Oh, I don't like this at all."

"What? What's wrong?"

"They're heading toward Earth."

"What? Why?"

"Dunno," he said.

"Well, you said that they bounced off us and spun out of control, like we did," she offered. "Maybe they just happened to go that direction, and don't actually have any interest in the Earth."

"No," he said. "They've changed their trajectory since then, and are now headed straight for it."

"Are they going there to look for you?"

He looked at her gravely, in a way that suggested that this hadn't really occurred to him, and also that it was all-too-likely true.

* * *

And the Doctor continued to look grave for the next hour, because what he discovered did not please him in the least.

"What's happening?" Donna said, upon re-entering the console room with two cups of tea. "What's with the face?"

"I finally worked out how to intercept their communiqués without being detected. Turned out, it wasn't too difficult, because all of their security and detection machinery is focused on the Earth."

"They _are_ looking for you, aren't they?"

"Couldn't swear to it, but it sure seems that way."

"Okay. What do we do?"

"I dunno," he whispered. "Try not to get caught?"

For several minutes, the Doctor stood deadly still, apparently watching the communiqués fly by on the screen. And then, suddenly, "Oh!" He looked at her momentarily, wide-eyed, then, "Oh!"

"What?"

"Erm," he said, adjusting controls. "I think they think they've found me."

"What?"

"They're headed down to _terra firma_ ," he said.

"So, are we going to follow them?"

"We've got to know what they're up to."

The TARDIS began to move. The tell-tale sign of grinding gears filled the space.

"Well, are they headed for London? If they know you, they know it's a decent place to start to try and find you."

He pulled a face. "No, it looks like they're headed to Spain."

"Spain?"

"Yeah, Mallorca."

"Why do they think you're in Mallorca?"

"No idea."

* * *

 **All righty! Please play fair: leave a review! I'd love to know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

**One of the reviews mentioned the Family of Blood, in the context of whatever is coming after the Doctor in chapter 1... and yes, they had crossed my mind. I think you'll find that our alien-in-question has some things in common with the Family of Blood, which sorta bothers me, but I think, in the end, the crucial differences will be what make the story exciting!**

 **Thanks for all you lovely reviewers! And off we go with chapter 2!**

* * *

TWO

The TARDIS, almost of her own accord, followed the communiqués coming from the unknown ship, that seemed to be searching for the Doctor. As expected, the trail led them straight to Mallorca, off the coast of Spain.

The entire island was green, temperate and spectacular. It was a popular place for people of all walks of life (western Europeans, especially) to find a refuge, and pretend for a while that the outside world didn't exist. It offered a tropical air, idyllic scenery and impeccable hospitality.

"Wow, this is… this is just… Wow! Honestly, why do they think you're _here_?" Donna asked, taking in the cobalt-blue ocean vista. She seemed in a bit of shock, as they stepped out of the TARDIS.

"Oi," the Doctor protested. "I could be here. I _am_ here!"

"Yeah, but you're really not, are you?"

He sniffed, by way of a haughty response, and began to wander to the left.

They'd parked the TARDIS in what seemed to be a concrete hallway, carved into a hillside. At the end of the hallway, they could see, was a door marked, "Maintenance," and it opened onto a gentle slope that led a hundred yards or so down to a beach, where numerous people now cavorted. On either side of the hallway, there was a concrete staircase, and the Doctor had chosen one, and was now climbing, with Donna in tow.

They could see now that they had landed in some sort of extremely posh resort. A path was leading them uphill, along the side of a pool area, where beautiful people bathed. Actually, it was three separate pools on three different levels of the hillside, connected by a tile wall facilitating a sheet-like overflow from higher pools to lower ones. The gigantic building behind it, presumably the hotel, was pale pink mock-stucco, and sported ornate white marble staircases and Romanesque columns – five storeys of luxury. It appeared that every room on the two upper floors had a balcony, with table and chair set, which meant, of course, a stunning view of the Atlantic Ocean.

"Blimey," Donna said. "I've been to Mallorca before, but we didn't stay in any place like this!"

The Doctor didn't say anything – he just scowled, staring at the scene.

They gave themselves a tour of the grounds, with Donna commenting on the opulence of it all (including the tanned, muscular, Mediterranean men serving drinks), and the Doctor making note of everything he saw. Every courtyard, garden and atrium they walked through, he wondered even harder, _why here?_ What was it about this place? Would he pick up on some energy signature, attracting an alien species here? Were they making it their base of operations, or did they really think that the Doctor could be, possibly, hiding here? How did _this,_ in any way, seem like a place where the Doctor would hole up, unless there was some kind of intergalactic threat already occurring here… _was_ there some sort of intergalactic threat already occurring here? Well, it was a possibility, of course. Perhaps the resort was _already_ the base of operations of some faction or other…

He looked for bizarre art that might hide beckoning signs, detectable to certain civilisations (like crop circles, but less-obvious). He looked for statues that might harbour magnetic conductors, but every statue, via sonic scan, was confirmed bona-fide marble (without quantum-lock). He even looked in the corner of his eye once in a while, whenever something moved, just in case there was a perception-filtered door that might lead them into the belly of the beast.

But the more time that went on, the less it seemed as though this would be the standard type of reconnaissance situation.

"Damn it," he whispered, walking from a restaurant under a paned glass dome, back out into the true outdoors.

"What?" Donna said. "Tell me you're feeling peckish as well, because I really fancy this place. I saw a guy eating eggs Florentine with lobster polenta! How brilliant is that!"

"I'm not feeling peckish," he muttered. "That's not why we're here. Wait… lobster polenta? How did you even notice that? What did you do, a walk-by tasting?"

"I looked at the menu when we came in," she said. "And I don't like to boast, but I've sort of got lobster radar."

"Lobster radar. Wow, that is…" he said, with his eyebrows raised incredulously high. He exhaled through pursed lips, contemplating an adjective. Then he said, "… well, not something I expected to hear today."

"I'm full of surprises," she quipped, taking his arm, letting him lead her into a kind of cloister area, alongside a balcony that looked down into a Zen garden.

They stopped, and looked down in to the tranquil area, peopled with tourists following a Tai Chi class. The Doctor scowled hard. "Let's go down there."

"Really?" she asked. "Doesn't seem like something you'd do. _Zen garden_!"

"I don't want to go down there to be Zen, I want to go down there because those trees are in a trapezoid pattern."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"It might be a Howktac conductor."

"A what?"

"Come on," he said, softly, walking away, toward a set of stairs. As they descended, he explained, "The Howktac are a civilisation with some sophisticated infiltration software outfitting their ships. And, if they can get their Howklian metals into the picture, and then arrange the pieces into a trapezoid pattern, they can use it to conduct messages between their ships, if they triangulate properly round the planet."

"Oh, so… wicked sophisticated infiltration," Donna said. "They might be the ones coming after you. The ones who could penetrate the defences round the TARDIS."

"Yep," he said, popping the P. "And if that trapezoid is a conductor, then it might explain what they're doing here."

They arrived in the enclosed area, floored by white gravel. There was a sign that said, "Silence, please. This area is for Tai Chi and meditation only." The Doctor and Donna breached the Zen garden, and stood in the middle of the trapezoidal pattern, while the nearly silent Tai Chi group moved beside them, apparently unfazed by their presence. The Doctor inspected the trees, as though if looked at them closely enough, the wood might melt away and reveal Howklian metal underneath. He examined each tree trunk, as Donna watched. And then, he took out the sonic screwdriver and aimed it at one of the trees.

When the noise began to vibrate the air in the Zen garden, they heard a noise they hadn't expected.

It was a "Shush," from a spot outside the tree enclosure.

Startled, both the Doctor and Donna looked in the direction from which the sound had come, and saw a woman, sitting in the lotus position on teak bench. They had wholly failed to notice her when they'd arrived upon the white gravel.

"Oh! Blimey, I didn't see you there!" Donna exclaimed with a start. She clutched at her chest momentarily, and then thought she ought to cover for the noise the sonic had made. She elbowed the Doctor and said, "I told you to turn that thing off. Honestly, I've never heard a ringtone so obnoxious in my life."

Some members of the Tai Chi class were now giving them dirty looks.

"Yeah," the Doctor said absently, staring at the woman with a bit of a scowl. "Didn't mean to interrupt your meditation."

For her part, the woman gave a half-smile, and a sniff, but didn't say anything. She simply closed her eyes and returned to her apparent state of transcendence.

The Doctor took Donna's hand, and led her back up the stairs silently, ostensibly, so that meditation could continue. But when they reached the top of the stairs, Donna could read on the Doctor's face that there was something amiss.

"What's that look?" she asked.

"I swear I've seen her somewhere before," the Doctor whispered, turning left, going in the opposite direction than from where they had come.

"Really? Where?"

"I don't know Donna," he told her, with a hint of exasperation. "If I knew I'd, say, met her in a lumber camp on the planet Katros Katros Phi, I would have said, _I know that woman from Katros Katros Phi,_ not, _I've seen her somewhere."_

"All right, all right," she whined. "No need to get snippy!"

"Sorry," he muttered. He leaned on a banister, and peered back down into the Zen garden, where the woman still sat, perfectly still. "It's just… ugh, it's on the tip of my brain. Is that right… the tip of my brain?"

"Could she be a Howktac person? Maybe she's interfacing with the trapezoid thingie _with her mind."_

"I'm pretty sure she's human," the Doctor said absently.

"Well… okay," Donna said. "I didn't hear her say anything, so we can't tell where she's from. And even if she had spoken, it would have sounded like English to me, right?"

"Right," he said. He trained his eyes on the woman, and squinted.

Donna decided to do the same, and attempt to add the woman to her mental catalogue of faces… not that the catalogue was particularly reliable, but a girl had to try _something._

The woman was black, attractive, and, Donna guessed, in her early twenties. She had long, light-brown, stick-straight hair, that was pulled back at the temples and tied behind her head. She was wearing what looked like a very light-weight, powder-blue track suit.

They actually watched her for quite a while, Donna occasionally trying to get the Doctor's attention, but not really succeeding. Clearly, this woman was familiar, but her presence must be on the very periphery of the Doctor's experience and memory. Eventually, the woman got up slowly, and stretched. Even from above, they could both tell that she was taller than the average woman, but was rail thin. She did what seemed like a few brief yoga poses, then walked tranquilly through a gate on the other side of the Zen garden.

The Doctor dashed rather stealthily along the walkway where they were standing, heading in the direction the woman had gone, but not descending into the Zen garden. Donna had the presence of mind not to ask any questions just now; she simply followed his movements as best she could.

The walkway led them to a corner, where there was another staircase, that led down toward a grassy area. The woman came out from underneath the staircase, and strode diagonally across the space, and entered the building through a door, that was part of a wall entirely panelled with windows.

The Doctor and Donna made their way down the stairs. As they reached ground-level, they realised that on the inside of that windowed wall was a play area for children. It was an indoor playground, with foam floors, several cordoned-off areas for different age groups, and even an espresso bar for the parents.

"You go inside," the Doctor said. "Find her, tell me what she's doing. You can text me. Give me your phone."

"You have a mobile?"

"Yes," he snapped. "Hurry."

She pulled her phone from her back pocket, and handed it to him. He programmed in the number of the silver razor flip phone currently resting in his pocket, and handed it back to her.

She folded her arms, and asked, "Why do I have to go in there?"

"Because, frankly, you're a woman," he said. "Single girl walks in there without a kid, no one cares. If a couple does it, or a single man, well…"

"Ugh, fine," she sighed. "I'll tell you what I see."

"Don't let her see you looking at her."

"Yeah, yeah."

Donna walked through the door, and almost immediately spotted the woman in a section in the far corner. She was placing a small girl onto a playground platform, with a big smile on her face. The little girl was about eighteen months old by Donna's estimation, and she toddled adorably across the platform, and up onto another one. She sat down at the top of the slide, and then hesitated with an unintelligible protest of some sort. Donna noticed there was a tall black man nearby, also in his early twenties, and at this point, he squatted at the bottom of the slide, and said, "It's all right love, Daddy will catch you."

The little girl slid down, and the man caught her, scooped her up in his arms, and kissed her, praising her for a slide well-slid. The little girl leant down toward the slide, signaling she'd like to do it again, so her father took her to the platform. The woman came round to the slide and said, "Okay, this time, Mummy with catch you!"

Donna tried to blend in by getting in line for a lattè, from which she could easily watch the little family. She pulled her phone out and texted the Doctor that the woman in question was just here with her husband, and they were playing with their daughter.

"What's the husband like?" his response asked.

"Tall. Good-looking. Young. What do you want from me?"

"Does he seem all right?"

"Yes!"

"What about the child?"

"She's a child!"

"Keep watching. Let me know if anything weird happens."

"Like what? One of them grows tentacles?"

"Whatever. Just let me know."

Donna obtained her lattè, and then sat down at one of the café tables, to observe. The family moved to the see-saw, then to some giant foam mushrooms, then moved across the room to the ball pit for a while. Donna didn't bother to follow them around the whole place – she just watched.

After about twenty minutes, with the little girl crying and fighting, the parents crossed the room again, and removed some personal effects from a cubby, near the coffee shop. They used a bench to do a quick, on-the-go nappy change, then headed for the door.

"They're coming out the door." Donna texted to the Doctor.

By the time, she got outside, the family had well passed the Doctor, who was standing behind a column in front of the building.

He took her hand and made to follow the family.

"What? Still?" she asked. "They're perfectly normal, Doctor."

"I know."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I know who they are."

"Really? You know them?" she wondered, as they rounded a corner and watched the family cross another grassy area bordered by a steep hill and a magnificent view of the ocean.

"Well, I know the man. Seen the woman before, I guess, just maybe in passing."

"Who is he?"

"Leo Jones."

* * *

 **All righty! How'd you like this chapter? Don't forget to leave me a review to let me know! :-)**


	3. Chapter 3

**I'd like to say thanks to the reviewer who pointed out that I'd written "The Doctor and Martha," when I meant, "The Doctor and Donna." Wow, talk about _force of habit!_ But it is fixed... on with the show!**

 **So, this might not be the most exciting chapter ever, but things are moving along with the Jones family...**

 **Enjoy! And don't forget to review!**

* * *

THREE

A broad-chested Mediterranean waiter delivered Donna's second glass of Sangria. The Doctor was still working on his first Mango Agua Fresca, which was basically chilled mango purée and water.

"You're making me look like a lush," she said, sipping.

"Nah," he dismissed. "Don't worry about it. I just want to stay sharp."

From where they sat, beside the pool at the top of the hill, they had a very good view of one of the side doors of the resort's massive hotel, about thirty metres away. An hour or so earlier, they had seen Leo Jones, his girlfriend (at least, the Doctor was pretty sure she was his girlfriend, and not his wife… though shamefully, he could not remember her name) and their little girl disappear through that very door. The Doctor had made a call to the resort's booking department and asked a few questions, and found that each guest was only given a card-key that accessed their specific room, and the door of the wing in which they were staying. Which meant that Leo and his family likely had a room in this very part of the hotel, and if they left again, they would probably leave through here.

"Now, tell me again why we're spying on Martha's brother," Donna said. "I mean, couldn't he just be a bloke on holiday with his family?"

"Yes, that's probably exactly what he is," the Doctor said, taking a sip. "I'm more worried that he's in danger, than he's up to something. There's no way it's a coincidence that the TARDIS picks up a potentially penetrative force that proceeds to chase us across the cosmos at ridiculous speeds, then scans the Earth when it can't get to me, and zeroes right in on _Martha Jones' brother."_

"So, we're waiting until he comes out, so we can warn him?"

"Well, actually, first, I'd like to see what else happens," the Doctor said. "Because I kind of need to know what species I'm dealing with, and with the info I have right now, it could be one of a hundred. Well, maybe one of fifty. Or, more like twenty. But that's still a pretty wide net."

"That's true."

"Also, because it's highly unlikely that Leo and his girlfriend are here alone. Leo's a university student, and I believe his girlfriend teaches a ballet class for little kids. They wouldn't be able to afford to stay here on their own… I think they might be here with his parents, in which case, they all might be sitting ducks."

"Well, blimey, Doctor," she shrieked. "Are you using them as bait?"

"Not exactly," he shrugged. "I'm just observing the patterns of an alien foe. Whittling down the possibilities."

"By allowing it to mess with your friends!"

"My friend's family," he corrected. "Martha's mum can't bear me. Another reason not to make ourselves known."

Donna sighed loudly, and gave him a disapproving look, then sipped her Sangria. The Doctor did not make eye-contact because he knew he'd meet that expression, and he didn't much care to. So, he continued to stare, through his sunglasses, at the hotel side-door.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, then Donna asked, "How long have we been sitting here? What time is it?" She looked at her watch.

"We've been here about an hour."

"It's six o'clock," she said. "How much longer are we going to wait? What if Leo and company aren't planning on coming out until tomorrow morning?"

The Doctor sighed. "Okay, fair enough. Are you hungry?"

"Yeah. Been thinking about lobster polenta ever since I saw it."

"Let's eat," he suggested. "I think they serve dinner right here on the pool deck, if you ask. Or if you bribe the waiters. We'll have dinner, keep watch another hour or so, and if we don't see them, we'll switch to plan B."

"Which is?"

"Hack into the hotel's surveillance system and route it to the TARDIS," he said. "And for good measure, we'll see if she'll let us activate the facial recognition software, so it'll alert me if it sees Leo or anyone related to him."

"You can do that?" Donna was shrieking again. "If you can do that, why the hell are we sitting here in the sun? I'm ginger, you know."

"We're sitting here because it's less dangerous, less illegal and less invasive than hacking a computer network," he told her calmly. "But mostly, because we gave the TARDIS an awfully good workout by putting up that hard barrier. I don't want to ask her to do anything else out-of-the-ordinary, unless I have to."

* * *

At poolside, they each ate some sort of grilled fish, some sort of salad, and some sort of risotto. Though the lobster polenta was not available here, but rather, only in the restaurant they'd seen earlier, both of them raved about the food, and the Doctor even had half a glass of wine (about which Donna teased him mercilessly). They then each ordered a dessert which never got delivered because, at about a quarter 'til seven, the door opened, and Leo Jones stepped out.

"Oh, hello," the Doctor muttered, watching intently.

Leo stepped aside, and held the door open for the people coming behind him. With that, his girlfriend, both of his sisters, and his parents (his mother holding his daughter) filed out onto the patio adjacent to the hotel's mid-southern wing.

Before he could stop himself, the Doctor said an expletive (and not quietly), and sank down in his chair to hide his face.

"Whoa, is that the whole family?"

"Yeah," he said.

She looked at him mockingly. "Oh, _that's_ not obvious at all. It's clear you've been in this Cloak and Dagger business a long time."

He sat up straight, and just tried not to look directly at the family. "What are they doing?"

"Talking."

"About what?"

"What're you asking me for? If you can't hear them, I certainly can't," she pointed out. "Which one's Martha?"

He snuck a glance at the family, now all standing around, checking phones, putting on sunglasses, exchanging info, apparently making the last preparations to go somewhere.

"The one in pink," he said. "Her sister Tish is in white."

"Okay, I see," she said, nodding. "Good-looking family."

"Yeah."

"But you'd already noticed that, hadn't you?" she asked, with a smirk.

He frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She ignored the question, and gestured toward Martha with her chin. "So it's _her_ the alien was tracking, not Leo."

This gave him a sick feeling. "Yeah, it looks that way. If you're trying to get to me, she's a good place to start."

"Are we going to follow them?"

Just then, kisses were exchanged between Francine and Clive Jones, the matriarch and patriarch of this family unit, hugs between Clive and his daughters, as well as between Leo and his girlfriend. And then, much to the Doctor's chagrin, the group split up. Clive and Leo went one way, while the women went the other.

"Let's go," Donna said, standing up, moving in the direction in which Martha's party had gone.

The Doctor stood as well, and actually left some real money on the table. He said, "You go with them. I'm going to follow the men."

"What? Why?"

"Because Martha will spot me in a nanosecond," he said, in his signature rapidfire fashion. "Long as I can't tail _them_ , I might as well keep an eye on the guys. Go!"

"Wait, what am I looking for?"

"Maybe… something watching them?"

"Besides me?"

"Someone talking to them, grilling them unduly for information," he said. "I dunno… you'll know it when you see it! Now go!"

"Text me!" she shouted.

Donna jogged off behind the tall woman in blue that they had seen in the Zen garden, who was taking up the rear of their party. The Doctor walked rapidly, but in controlled fashion, to catch up with the Jones men, without being seen.

* * *

He managed to stay with them as they chatted, and walked into a nearby village, crawling with tourists. The advantage, of course, to the place being crowded was that it was less likely they would see him.

On the first block, they turned left, and entered a pub. The place was unexpectedly dark and dusty, for an establishment located so close to a world-class luxury resort on Mallorca. But, he supposed, _this_ resort was not the only tourist haven in the area, and people of all sorts were frequenting the village.

The Doctor stood just outside the door, and watched Leo and Clive settle in at the bar. He decided that sitting near enough to them to be able to hear their conversations would be too risky, if he didn't want to be recognised. So, he walked another block and popped into a shop that sold campy tourist trinkets. He purchased a royal-blue t-shirt that said "Mallorca" in white cursive lettering, a baseball hat of the same type, and a magazine. He'd been told (loudly, by Donna) that his suit and his hair were the features that most distinctively formed his silhouette, so he reckoned that if he could get rid of them, he might be able to keep himself hidden from people who only _sort of_ knew him. He asked to use the loo, and went in to change out of his jacket and shirt, and into the t-shirt. He secured the hat on his head, put his glasses on for good measure, and then stuffed his own clothes into the shopping bag.

When he returned to the pub, Leo and Clive were still sitting right where he'd last seen them. Each of them had a beer, and they were, again, having a chat.

The Doctor found a table that was right behind the two of them, but closer to the corner than not. He ordered a Coke when prompted, then pretended to read his magazine with the brim of his hat down, while he listened for Martha's father and brother to say anything out-of-the-ordinary. Once in a while, he looked about the room to make sure there weren't any other shady characters (like him), that could possibly have their sights on the Joneses.

After about thirty minutes, Clive's glass seemed to be empty, and he ordered another.

"Same again. And one for my last-born, here," said Clive.

"Actually, Dad, I probably shouldn't, if I'm going to do that _Volar con las estrellas_ thing," said Leo.

 _Flying with the stars?_ the Doctor said to himself. _What the hell is that?_

"Why not? It's not like you're driving the thing."

Leo chuckled. "They won't let you do it if you're drunk."

"I'm not saying you should get drunk…"

"Fine," Leo told the barman. "Bring me another."

"Besides," Clive continued. "You can't go for another hour, right? It's not dark enough yet."

The Doctor was intrigued by this; he was still fairly certain that a) Leo wasn't up to anything, and b) the alien tracker had picked up on _Martha_ in the vicinity, and it had nothing to do with Leo, nor with Clive. But still… he might as well find out about the flying thing, and/or whether Leo was going where he said he was going.

And so, for the next hour, the Doctor listened to the two of them talk about various things, including life with Leo's girlfriend (Nadine was her name!), life with Francine after reconciling with Clive, some of Leo's friends and their various antics, memories of spending time in Brighton, and of course, this trip.

"You know what? I never thanked you," Leo said, taking a hearty pull off his beer, then clinking his glass against his father's.

"For what?"

"For anything, really," Leo said, chuckling. "But specifically, for bringing us here."

"Oh, don't mention it, son."

"No, seriously. Nadine and me, really needed something like this to… you know… cleanse the palate, as it were."

"Do I want to know what that means?" Clive asked, now chuckling himself.

"It's just, we've been bogged down in our lives for so long now… so much to do, so much responsibility and thinking and planning and not-sleeping, and being patient and… it feels like we're just being weighed down all the time. We just needed to get away, shake it off, start over. I mean, I know we could do that anytime, but, you know, not without it causing money problems and whatnot."

"Yeah, well, having a kid will do that."

"You're right. Ever since Keisha was born, we've just been just barely able to keep our heads above water. And not just with money," Leo continued. "But anyway… we already covered that. Just wanted to say thanks, Dad."

"You're welcome," Clive said. "I tell you, after the year we had, I think we all needed it. Especially Martha."

"Yeah," Leo said, uneasily. "I still don't quite understand all that…"

The Doctor sighed to himself, thinking of how weird it must be for Leo and Nadine, being the only members of their immediate family who had no memory of the Year That Never Was. He would have had no idea that Harold Saxon was not who he said he was, nor that he took over the planet, only to have Martha Jones almost single-handedly save it. He'd have some memory of having spoken to a frantic Martha on the phone, and hearing her tell him to run, and _possibly_ of hearing the new Prime Minister's voice come over the line, before his part of the call was cut off. But he would have no idea that he, Leo, and his little family, spent that year in hiding, in a fishing town in Northern Ireland, having changed their names, so as not to be found by the Master's minions. Clearly, he'd heard the story (actually, the Doctor suspected he'd heard snippets of he story, all out of order), yet still, understandably, he couldn't quite grasp what had transpired. He probably was reluctant to _believe_ what had transpired.

The two talked a bit more, and eventually, Leo stood up to leave. "See you later. Don't get into trouble," said Leo, punching his dad lightly on the shoulder.

"Nah, I'm just going to wander back there," Clive told him, gesturing to the back of the bar. "Think I'll play a bit of billiards."

The Doctor waited ten seconds after Leo left, then nonchalantly stood up, threw a few Euros on the table, and followed him out the door. Just as he was leaving, he saw Clive, out of the corner of his eye, get up from the bar, beer in-hand, and move toward the billiards tables, where a few people were already engaged in games.

Leo walked back toward the resort, and then down the hill toward the beach, as the Doctor trailed behind. When he reached the sand, Leo sat down, took off his sandals, and walked about a quarter-mile along the coastline, with the incoming waves rhythmically overwhelming his bare feet, and holding his footwear in his hands.

When he reached another beach, he went up further onto the shore, and approached a hut, with a sign outside that said, _Volar con las estrellas. Night Parasailing! Spectacular Views!_ The Doctor waited about ten minutes to see what else would happen, but eventually, he saw Leo strapped into a harness, and then pulled off his feet by a boat, and soar into the air.

Leo's little excursion had been exactly what he said it would be, and the whole thing was totally innocent. The Doctor decided to wander back to the bar, just to see what might happen with Clive.

* * *

When the Doctor arrived back at the pub, it was about two-and-a-half hours after they had all left the resort, and there was a terrible commotion inside. Specifically, there was commotion in the back, near the billiards table. A crowd was gathered around, gawking at something, and he could hear grunting, banging, clanging and the like.

He pushed his way through the crowd, with a prescient dread over what he might see.

His fear turned out to be well-founded


	4. Chapter 4

**Okay, let's kick it up a notch! Clive Jones is in trouble, what does the Doctor do?**

 **This chapter was quite fun to write - hope you enjoy it as I did!**

 **Don't forget to leave me a review and let me know! Oh, and Happy New Year!**

* * *

FOUR

The crowd, mostly men, were rubbernecking over a punch-up going on in the billiards area of the bar. A few people were just relishing in the violence, as people often do, and drinking. Others were saying things like "Yeah, you teach him, Matías, he's got it coming."

Much to the Doctor's horror, Clive Jones was on the floor, curled in a ball, getting his back beaten with the thick end of a pool cue by one drunken, unshaven man, and his stomach kicked by a second drunken, unshaven man.

Unable to hold back, the Doctor shouted, "Stop!" and he called Clive's name a couple of times. He wasn't sure why he did either of these things, other than, he was always keen to avoid witnessing further pugilism, and/or sinking to it himself.

A woman standing nearby, was whining, "Come on, Sebastián, this is ridiculous! It's two against one!"

A man with her, in a striking emerald-coloured shirt, said something to a similar effect. "Bastián, really? Let him up!"

"Oh, I'll let him up all right!" cried out one of the drunken brawlers, who was, apparently named Sebastián. With that, he grabbed Clive by the collar of his black dress shirt, and hauled him to his feet. When he let go, the Doctor could see that Clive already had a split lip, and he was clearly quite dazed by the whole fiasco.

Taking advantage of Clive's totally disarmed position, Matías threw his pool cue aside, and punched him in the jaw. This sent Clive reeling into a corner, stumbling against a bar-stool, his back against the seat. The two of them now began taking turns landing clumsy, drunken blows about Clive's face and chest.

The man in the emerald shirt protested again, "You are acting like barbarians! This is not a fair fight!"

This all happened in the space of about ten seconds, and the Doctor looked at the emerald-shirt man squarely. The two made eye-contact for another couple of seconds, during which it seemed they both wondered why the other didn't jump in and help.

"All right, fine!" the Doctor cried out, and he walked into the field of battle, aiming the sonic screwdriver at a lamp, swinging above the heads of Clive the other two brawlers. The exposed glass bulb exploded with a loud _pop,_ and sparks flew as the sonic manipulation spread into the wiring above.

This surprised everyone, especially the three men in the corner. The crowd gave a surprised gasp, and the attackers ducked their heads down below their shoulders, shouting confused expletives. The Doctor seized the moment, pushed past them and grabbed Clive, who was hiding his eyes from the glass. He lifted the man under his arm, and stood him up.

As Matías and Sebastián came after him, he looked to his immediate left and noticed an emergency exit. He kicked it open, setting off the alarm, once again, vexing the spectators, and threw Clive through it. He then lifted the sonic screwdriver again, and augmented the pitch of the alarm so high, so loud, that no one in the room could keep from covering their ears, and attempting to flee.

He stepped out through the exit, and let the door slam behind him. He sonicked the lock, just for good measure.

He found Clive leaning against a tree, clearly unstable, about to fall over. He lifted Clive's arm again and put his own head underneath, supporting the other man's weight across his shoulders. It was awkward, as Clive was a couple inches shorter, but, the Doctor reckoned he could trudge back the half-mile or so this way, even though it wouldn't be easy. Briefly, he contemplated trying to find the emerald-shirt man, and asking him for help, but thought that might just make things messy.

"Oi, thanks, mate," Clive said, dazed.

"You're welcome, now let's get the hell out of here," said the Doctor. "The police were probably alerted by the alarm."

"Yeah," breathed Clive.

"Can you walk?"

"Yeah," Clive repeated, putting one foot in front of the other. "Maybe?"

Fortunately, there was nothing wrong with Clive's legs. As he got fresh air and shook off the rattling the hooligans in the bar had given him, he got stronger, was able to ward of the bit of shock and daze he felt. He was capable at least of moving forward, if not in a straight line. With the Doctor guiding him by the arm, they made their way up a pathway that led through a jungly, wooded area, up to the back of the resort. This way, they basically avoided any witnesses and law-enforcement. And in fact, after five minutes, they did hear sirens, and see lights flashing in the town.

"Blimey, what the hell happened in there?" the Doctor asked.

"We were playing pool."

"That's it?"

"Yeah, what else?"

"Mm," the Doctor commented, non-committally. Then, after a few long beats, he asked, "Did you maybe hustle them a bit?"

"A bit. Didn't really mean to, but… well, didn't try not to."

"You're a good pool-player, then?"

"Yeah," Clive admitted. "But those guys thought I wouldn't be able to beat them 'cause I look too posh."

"Ah."

"And probably too old," Clive chuckled. "But I can tell you, I spent my share of time in dusty old pubs like that, when I was their age."

"I'll bet you did," the Doctor said. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Too much. I might as well sleep right here on the grass, because that's where my wife will put me after she realises."

The Doctor smirked, but Clive didn't see.

They reached the edge of the resort's property, and there was a bench underneath a lamplight. Clive asked to stop and rest a moment. So, the Doctor all but dropped him onto the bench, then sat down himself, grateful for a breather.

The Doctor removed his baseball hat, mussed his hair, and tossed it into a bin on his right. He realised only then that he'd left his suit jacket, shirt and tie in a shopping bag in the pub when he'd gone off to follow Leo.

 _Oh, well,_ he thought. _Good thing I've got thirty-seven of those suits._

Clive sat with his elbows on his knees for a few moments, looking down at the pavement.

"Are you going to be sick?" the Doctor asked.

"No, I don't think so. I just need a minute."

The Doctor gave him the time he needed, and eventually, Clive sat up straight, closed his eyes to will away the dizziness and headache, then turned and looked at him.

He blinked hard, a few times. Then, "Doctor?"

"Yep."

Clive seemed to try to shake off an hallucination. Then he tried again, looking at the man sitting beside him. "Doctor? Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Well blimey!" the man shouted, then leaned over to hug the Time Lord. "I didn't recognise you with that hat, and that shirt, and… wait, what are you doing here?"

"Oh, you know," the Doctor vamped awkwardly, a bit taken off-guard by the question. "Just tracking some anomalous… electromagnetic… stuff."

"And it happened to bring you here?"

"Yeah. Weird world, eh?"

"Fortunate world. Those guys might've killed me."

"Or at least might've broken a few ribs, or… wait, let me get a look at you." The Doctor took the man's head in both hands, and examined both eyes under the dim light. "You do have concussion."

"Great," Clive sighed. Then, he put his head in his own two hands again, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Oh, Doctor. What must you think of me?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, mate, you haven't exactly seen me at my best," Clive said, sitting upright again. "You've seen me chasing after my girlfriend – the one I had while I was still married. You've seen me getting captured, losing my temper, and shouting my lungs out. And now, you've seen me getting into a drunken punch-up in a pub because I hustled some younger blokes at a game of billiards."

Now, it was the Doctor's turn to sigh. "Well, Clive, your love life is none of my business. I don't judge people for stuff like that, as a rule. And you were being arrested for no good reason, by people you knew worked for a despotic politician, and screaming to protect your daughter. Your entire family, really. Anyone would have done the same. I know I would have. And the punch-up, well…"

"Don't tell me you've got in a whole bunch of 'em, Doctor, because your brawls save the universe. This is different. This is a grown man behaving like a university student."

"I've also seen you persevere with dignity," the Doctor offered. "I've seen you endure servitude and torture, without losing your cool, without losing hope."

"Not losing hope, that was down to you. And Martha."

"Still. That counts for a hell of a lot."

"See? That just shows I'm capable of more. Of better."

"You're human."

"I'm a father. And a grandfather! I own a business. I'm respectable, or at least I'm _meant_ to be respectable!" he shouted, before burying his head in his hands again.

The Doctor put a comforting hand on the man's back, and gave him a couple of pats. "Well, you seem keen to beat yourself up over this, even worse than Matías and Sebastián have done. So, if you want to go down that road, I'll listen. But I won't help you."

"Sorry, Doctor," Clive said, through his hands. "I don't mean to be maudlin, it's just, I'm so appalled at myself."

"I can see that. But you know, you did get ganged-up upon. It wasn't a fair fight."

"I know, but I could have extracted myself from the situation earlier. I mean, I can't say I exactly provoked them, but when it became clear that they wanted a fight, I didn't back off, either."

The Doctor chuckled. "Welcome to my life."

"Did I maybe _want_ the fight on some level?"

"Maybe. Can't fault you for that," the Doctor reassured him, understanding on a very deep level.

"I was just trying to have some fun," he said. "And show off a bit."

"Again, welcome to my life. Clive, you're a perfectly normal bloke," the Doctor continued to reassure. "You, of all people, needed to blow off some steam. I'd have preferred to see you go water-skiing or something, but I suppose, you play the cards you're dealt."

"Yeah."

"Isn't that why you're here, in Mallorca? Blowing off steam?"

"Yeah. It was a hell of a year."

"I know. Sorry."

"Oh God," Clive said quickly. "We don't blame you! No, not at all!"

"Thanks."

"Well, Francine might, just a tad," he conceded.

The Doctor smirked, in spite of himself. "Just a tad?"

Clive suddenly heaved himself onto his feet. In the few moments during which the Doctor looked at him straight-on, he could see that the man had a nasty-looking shiner, squarely landed on his right eye, and was reminded that his lip was fat and split.

"Speaking of whom," Clive was saying. "It's time I got back, and faced the…"

And he swooned, bending over to catch himself on the seat of the bench. The Doctor stood up to help, and said, "Yeah. Let's get you home. Or… wherever."

"It's okay," Clive said, trying to wave the Doctor away. "I can get there on my own. No need for you to fall prey to the wrath of Francine."

"Meh, I'm used to it," the Doctor quipped. "Plus, you are not anywhere near steady on your feet."

Clive didn't argue any further, and the two of them made their way back round to the front of the resort where they saw people still splashing about in the beautiful, multi-level pool where the Doctor and Donna had had their dinner. Clive reached into his pocket and produced a card-key that let them through the door that the Time Lord and his Companion had been surveilling just a few hours before.

"Which floor are you on?" the Doctor asked.

"Fifth."

The two of them rather stumbled into the lift and went up to floor five.

When the doors opened, the Doctor asked, "Which one is your room?"

"Erm… that one," Clive said, pointing at a door in the corner.

The Doctor led him there, took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever was to come. He reached up and knocked.

After about five seconds, he heard the latch go, and the door opened.

And he found himself face-to-face, once again, with Martha Jones.


	5. Chapter 5

**Okay, guys. The moment(s) you've all been waiting for...**

 **(Oh, and I did my best to write about what an actual doctor would do in this situation. Obviously, I am not one, so be gentle with me!)**

* * *

FIVE

"Hi," the Doctor said flatly to Martha Jones, who had opened the suite door.

She gaped at him, wide-eyed, loose-lipped. "Wha… Doc… wha…" she began.

"Erm, I have a delivery for you," the Doctor said, after Martha said nothing for an uncomfortably long time. He tilted his head toward her father.

"Hi, sweetheart," Clive said, attempting to wave at her.

Martha seemed to come round then, and she practically shouted, "Dad!" She got under Clive's free arm, and together, she and the Doctor conducted Clive inside. She kicked the door shut behind her.

"Oh, my God!" Francine, Tish and Nadine cried out, practically in unison. They all rushed toward him, instinctively.

"No, no," Martha said putting out her arm to stop them. "Just give him some air, let us get him to the sofa."

She and the Doctor eased her father down onto the pristine white divan.

"Clive!" Francine shrieked. "What's happened? Where did you get that black eye? Who's done this to you?"

"Francine, Francine," the Doctor said, gently taking Francine's arm, though not urging her in any direction. "You may have to give him some time."

Looking concerned and pissed off at the same time, Francine looked at the Doctor squarely, and asked, "Where the hell did _you_ come from?"

"Mum!" Martha scolded. "You've been saying _I'm_ rude!"

"Well…" Francine began.

"Concussion?" Martha asked of the Doctor.

"Yeah."

"Sustained when?"

The Doctor shrugged. "Forty-five minutes ago, maybe."

"How?"

"Well… I'm not entirely sure."

"Any vomiting?"

"Not as of yet, but he can't walk straight. Though, that might be the alcohol."

"How much has he had to drink?"

"No idea. He says, too much."

"Is he able to talk?"

Clive chimed in. "Why don't you just ask me, darling?"

"Can you have a conversation?" she asked him.

"Of course," he answered, with a smile.

"He can," the Doctor confirmed. "We've been chatting."

Martha had switched into doctor mode, and it was an admirable sight to behold. Though he had nothing to do with this bit of Martha Jones' mettle, he felt an incredible pride as he watched her walk through the next few minutes, in caring for a patient.

Though, the Doctor knew her well, and he could see behind her eyes that she was disturbed, and probably suppressing ten thousand questions that she'd like to ask, concerning the Doctor's involvement and what the hell he and her Dad had been _chatting_ about. He'd seen that look on her face a hundred times, when she was keeping something hidden, and yet, doing what needed to be done. Not the least of those times was on the day she left him, before she decided to tell him the truth about _why_ she was going.

"Right," she said, curtly. "Mum, can you help him get propped up, properly? We shouldn't let him fall asleep just now, if he can't walk properly. Tish, can you get him some water, and maybe a waste bin? Concussions can cause vomiting."

"As can excessive drinking," Francine reminded everyone.

Martha ignored her mother's comment. "Nadine, can you get Leo back here? We need someone who can help get Dad to his feet if need be, and help walk him."

"I can do that," the Doctor offered.

"All the same," Nadine said, grabbing her phone. "I think he should come back."

Without a word, Francine came at Clive with a few pillows, Tish went for the mini-kitchen, and Nadine went to the bedroom off to the left, with her mobile phone. The Doctor, unsure of what else to do, stepped forward and cleared the coffee table of four wine glasses, in various states of fullness. He took them to the sink, just as Tish was stepping away, and threw away the bottle.

Martha sat down on the coffee table opposite Clive, after he'd got himself upright, with help. She asked the Doctor to turn on the lights, and examined her father's pupils, his head, ran her fingers over his black eye. She asked him several basic questions, just to make sure he was cogent.

Then, "Mum, have you got any paracetomol?"

"Yes, I have," Francine said, disappearing into the bedroom on the right, returning thirty seconds later with a bottle of over-the-counter pain-reliever.

Martha dispensed two pills into her hand, and told her father to take them. "It should help with the pain," she said. "And the swelling in your eye and lip. But the hangover still might be bloody wicked, Dad."

"I accept that," Clive said, with a tired smile.

Meanwhile, Nadine seemed to locate Leo, and returned to the main room. "He'll be back soon. He's down on that party beach, about a mile away, playing football, for some reason. He said he went night-parasailing, though. Said it was beautiful."

"Okay. Maybe in an hour or so, he or the Doctor can take Dad for a walk up and down the hall, and we'll see how that goes," Martha announced. Then she looked at the Doctor. "Yeah?"

"Sure," he said.

"If he can walk straight on his own, great. If not, we'll check again an hour after that. We might just need to wait for the alcohol to wear off."

"Clive, honestly," Francine probed. "What have you done to yourself?"

"Mum, leave him alone," Martha said. "Plenty of time for berating later. Just let him rest for now. Awake."

"I'll put the TV on," Tish offered.

"No, no TV," Martha said. "Not directly after concussion. Play some music – softly. Or talk to him, read to him, keep him going. Let me know if he says anything weird."

Clive laughed from the sofa. "What, like there are elves dancing in the corner over there? I can't help it if they chose a bad time for it!"

All four women looked at him with a _that's not bloody funny_ expression, though the Doctor chuckled quietly. Then Martha said, "Seriously. Let me know."

"Okay," Tish said. "What are _you_ going to do?"

"I will be consulting with a fellow doctor," Martha said. She looked the Time Lord dead in the eyes, for the first time since she'd helped him bring her dad through the suite's door. "You, with me."

With that, she walked out of the room, and the Doctor really had no choice but to follow.

* * *

The Doctor and Martha Jones stepped out into the night air, through the door he'd very recently cleared with Clive.

"So, Dr. Jones," he said, quite boisterously. "Very efficient care of the patient! Bravo."

"Yes, thank you, Doctor. And hello." She seemed uneasy.

"Hello," he replied, with a smile. Then, "You all right?"

"Erm, sorry I was so curt, back in the room" she said. "It's just…"

With that, she stopped walking, momentarily stared at the patio beneath her feet, then turned toward him, and they fell into a cathartic hug. And, they held the position for a lot longer than they ever had before. No words, just feeling and friendship.

He kissed the top of her head, then said, "Seriously. You all right?"

"I'm fine," she said, into his lapel. "Just a bit overwhelmed."

"Sorry. I guess this is a lot to take, all at once," he muttered. "I should have phoned first, before just turning up on your doorstep. While you're on holiday. Late at night. With your injured dad. Blimey, what's the matter with me?"

"No, it's all right," she said, pulling away from him. "I'm really happy to see you, Doctor."

"Yeah?" he asked, smiling rather crookedly, trying not to show his delight at hearing this.

"Yeah," she said, also smiling reluctantly. "Don't tell my mum I said this, but… I've really missed you."

He laughed a bit, actually _surprised_ to find himself relieved to see her, as though he'd been holding his breath since she left. "I've really missed you, as well."

She walked in a small, contemplative circle, then, "So, what happened to my dad? And how is it that you happened to be there to pull him out of it?"

The Doctor thought about how appalled Clive had been at himself, about the punch-up.

He sucked air in through clenched teeth, and he said, "Oh, Martha. I think that's for your dad to say."

"Really? You can't just tell me, as, like a confidence between colleagues? I mean, not that I'm a Time Lord, but... well, you know it might help me take better care of him," she pleaded.

"I'll stay with you overnight and help you out, if you'd like," he said. "But I'm sorry, you'll have to ask him."

"Okay, fine." She gestured to one of the tables on the patio. "Want to sit for a few minutes?"

"Sure," he replied, pulling out a chair for her.

"Though, we'll have to be careful," she said, settling into a seat. "Round here, if you sit too long in one spot, someone inevitably brings you a drink."

They both chuckled, and she nervously adjusted her clothing, which, the Doctor noted, was different from what she'd been wearing when her family had gone out to dinner and/or drinks. Before, she'd had on a pink v-neck top, and black shorts. She was now donning what appeared to be a soft t-shirt and culotte set in light blue, with flowers…

"Erm, are you in your pyjamas?" he asked, before he could stop himself.

"Yeah," told him, a bit sheepishly. "We've all been sort of congregating in Mum and Dad's suite, because it has that parlour area. We girls all went to dinner tonight, without Dad and Leo. Well, I guess you worked out that the boys went off to do their own thing…"

"I had gathered that, yes."

"After dinner, we decided to give Nadine a chance to put Keisha to bed, then to gather and have some wine and a chat. Tish and I used the time to change into our nightclothes. Mum used the time to nitpick at Nadine's parenting skills."

"Ugh," he commented. "That's never the way to win someone's favour."

"I know. Since Keisha's been born Nadine's taken up yoga. Tish and I fancy that it's a relaxation technique she picked up, so she doesn't murder our mum. And yet, Leo and Nadine and Keisha, and Mum and Dad, are all sharing that suite."

"It's a gorgeous suite," he said. "Did I see two bedrooms?"

"Yes. Leo and Nadine and Keisha have the big one, and Mum and Dad have the smaller one. It was decided that they would share the big suite so that Mum and Dad could help with Keisha."

"That's nice," he said. "So, then you and Tish are in a different room, away from the fracas. Best of both worlds."

"That's was Mum's plan, because of course both Tish and Martha are single and are happy to revert to early childhood when we had to share a room…" she sang, bitterly. "But Tish and I agreed that we can't live together in the same room for two weeks without killing each other. So, she's in the room right across from the suite, the one Mum and Dad reserved and are paying for, and I'm down on the fourth floor, directly below Tish. She and I are splitting the cost of that second room."

"I see. Very wise, for two grown sisters. Even if they are both still shamefully single."

She chuckled a bit bitterly, then looked him over.

"And, speaking of pyjamas, Doctor… what the hell are _you_ wearing?"

He looked down at himself, having forgotten that he'd donned a new royal-blue, white-emblazoned _Mallorca!_ t-shirt in order to tail Clive and Leo without being recognised.

"Oh, erm, well, it's Mallorca, isn't it? When in Rome…"

"Mm-hm," she said, flatly. "And what the hell are you doing in… Rome?"

He took a deep breath, and thought fast. He'd known she'd eventually ask this question, but he hadn't fully decided what to say when the moment came.

It didn't feel it right to pull her into a mess of aliens and tracking devices, and alert her to the fact that something was out to get him, via her. Especially since, near as he could tell, this little jaunt to Mallorca was an effort on the part of the Jones family to regroup, after the harrowing year that they'd had (well, most of them) at the hands of the Master. This was supposed to be all about relaxation, and a bit of forgetting the lifestyle she'd left behind. In addition, he wondered if perhaps her knowing that something might be closing in on them would actually put her in more danger.

And so, he decided to keep the truth mum, for the moment, and go with the little white lie he'd told Clive earlier.

"There's some unusual electromagnetic activity here," the Doctor said. "We figured, even if it's nothing, we get to spend a few days in Mallorca."

"We?" she asked, rather quietly.

He winced. He could hear the pain in her voice, and couldn't believe he'd spoken so brazenly.

 _No wonder she left me,_ he thought. _A bulldozer, I am._

"Oh, erm, yes," the Doctor said, trying to sound cheerful. "Didn't I say? Donna. Donna… is her name. She's my friend, and we're here… I mean, we travel together."

Martha smiled, not quite knowing what to make of this news. But he wasn't fooled by her veneer – not anymore. He wouldn't allow himself _not_ to see the pain behind her eyes now.

"Well, that's nice," she said. "I guess I should've known."

"No, no, Martha," he said, leaning forward. "Don't be upset. My whole life, I've travelled with people… you know me, I can't be alone."

"I know, I know," she said. "I'm not upset."

"It's not like it was with you," he said. "I made sure of that."

"So, she's doesn't get all weak in the knees every time you smile?" Martha asked, with a smirk, though while staring down at her hands in her lap, rather than at him.

He smiled sheepishly, realising he'd spoken a bit brazenly again. "No, definitely not," he conceded.

"Are you certain? We hide our feelings well."

"I'm certain," he said. With a deep breath, he continued, "Martha, I know I made a mess of things with you, and there was no way I was going down that road again. I reckoned I needed… just a mate. The opposite of someone who… you know…"

"Was in love with you?"

"Yeah," he conceded, reluctantly. He found that hearing her say the words, caused his stomach to flip over. "I needed someone who could go toe-to-toe with me sometimes, and tell me off if I needed it."

"I could have done those things, if you'd given me half a chance," she told him, her eyes flashing with a bit of humour.

"I know. But you'll like her, Martha," he said. "She is utterly unimpressed by me, and that's what I need."

"How could she be unimpressed? Is she human? What, does she work for NASA?"

"No, she's a secretary," he said. "I guess, what I mean is, she's impressed by the life, the dazzling bits of the universe and time travel and whatnot, that she gets to see. But me? I might as well be chopped liver."

"I find that very hard to believe," Martha said. "But, if it's true, then she's mad. Blind."

He smiled. "She said the same thing about you, when I told her…"

He realised his folly here, _again_ , and cleared his throat.

"About our complicated past?"

"Yeah," he answered, almost inaudibly.

She laughed. "Well, I can't wait to meet her."

* * *

 **So, taking it slow. A reunion scene that doesn't pack a huge emotional punch, but maybe some undertones of angst? Something brewing? :-)**

 **Don't click away from here without letting me know your thoughts! And thank you for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

**In this chapter, I am struggling a bit, to find emotional truth. Three full edits, and I'm still scratching my head!**

 **Yet, I think this chapter might give you a laugh and/or a squee or two. I'm hoping, anyway.**

 **Please leave a review - how did I do? :-)**

* * *

SIX

It was a late night for most members of the Jones family, and for the Doctor. Three times, the Doctor and Leo took Clive on a ten-minute walk up and down the hotel corridors, and only on the third try could he walk in a straight line, on his own. At that point, Martha and the Doctor gave Francine and Leo leave to allow him to fall asleep (Tish and Nadine had long-since retired).

By then, it was 1:00 a.m., and the Doctor and Martha had spent the intervals between hallway walks, sitting on the patio outside the wing where the Joneses were staying, talking, having the occasional Coke or coffee brought over, philosophising, reminiscing, getting each other caught up on the last six months of their lives. For any other two people, six months would not amount to much, but for them, it felt like several lifetimes.

"Pompeii? Seriously?" she had asked, with a big smile on her face.

"Yeah," he answered, not smiling. "It was hell."

"Oh, come on, you enjoy adventure! What made it so hellish?"

"The fact that I discovered that _I'm_ the one who causes the volcano to erupt."

"What? No!"

"Yep," he said, bitterly. "Vesuvius was crawling with these alien things - Pyroviles, they're called - and in order to stop them taking over the Earth, I had to blow it up. The thing was never going to erupt, but for me."

"Jesus," she breathed."

"I didn't just happen on an event. It was me all along. Throughout history, in every scenario, the Vesuvius disaster was caused by my hand. It was a choice between Pompeii or the planet."

"Well, on behalf of the planet, thank you for making the right choice. Again. Though, I'm sorry about Pompeii. Blimey, I've never given Pompeii much thought before."

"Neither had I," he sighed.

And in turn, she recounted her own adventures of the past half-year.

"Passed my exams," she said, matter-of-factly. "Got my M.D. Came top."

"Of course you did," he said with a proud smile. "Congratulations. A proper doctor now!"

"Yeah. And about two weeks ago, I received a call from UNIT."

"Mm?"

She nodded, knowingly. "Mm-hm. They said I'd been highly recommended by an impeccable source."

"Did they, then? Well, the world is a very strange place."

"Yeah. So, thank you for talking me up, Mr. Impeccable Source. You should know, I'm leaning toward joining them."

"Good for you," he said. "You can fight aliens, be a doctor, stay on Earth, and not have to…"

With that, he looked down at his hands in his lap, and felt choked by the words. They both knew that he wanted to say, _not have to live with me,_ but it went unacknowledged.

"And, let's see, what else has happened? I turned twenty-six – or is it twenty-seven? I don't actually know anymore 'cause of that lost year. Got a new flat, though not yet a new car. Been out on a couple of dates with a guy named Tom…"

"Tom?"

"Yeah, he's a paediatric surgeon. He's nice."

"Good, good. Nice is good. You like him?"

"I suppose so. Don't really know him that well, actually."

"Are you going to see him again?"

She smiled. "I don't know, Doctor, I haven't decided yet. Why do you ask?"

"Just… interested in your life, is all."

She was telling the truth about Tom on all fronts, yet, despite the fact that she didn't know him overly well, there was a lot more she would have said about him, under different circumstances. She had had a plethora of information for Tish, of course, but could not spare the same for an old friend.

Well, at least not _this_ old friend. It didn't work that way with him.

Eventually, of course, the need for them to stay awake dissipated, along with Clive's addled state, and they said good night. But, not before they made plans to meet for breakfast at the restaurant where Donna had seen the lobster polenta.

* * *

Donna was waiting for the Doctor in the console room when he arrived at 1:15 a.m., but she was sound asleep, sitting sideways in the navigator's seat, with her head resting on her arm, which was crooked over the back of the chair. She looked quite peaceful. He woke her gently, and she sat up with a start.

"Oh!" she said. "Sorry, I guess I dozed off."

"You didn't have to wait up."

"I wanted to debrief with you."

"Why, what happened?"

"Well, actually, nothing," she said, yawning. "I thought you might have something to tell."

He shrugged. "Sort of. You first, though."

"Okay, well... I followed Martha and her family to dinner. They ate Tapas, because this is Spain and they're not crazy. But I didn't notice anything weird, like anyone following them, or me."

"Okay…"

"I'll tell you, that Martha is one clever little duck."

"Yes, she is," he said, leaning on the console and crossing his arms. "Though she never struck me as duck-like."

"Well, whatever. I can see why you liked her. Like her."

"She's brilliant."

"And gorgeous."

The Doctor said nothing.

"Oh, come on. Pretty, maybe? Meh? A bit, say?" she hinted, exaggeratedly.

He looked at her with tight-lipped tedium, then said, hard as nails, "Yes."

"Completely un-duck-like."

"Yes."

"Skin like a china doll, she has. And those eyes!"

"What are you getting at, Donna? You were beating this drum earlier, at the pool."

She ploughed through the question. "Well, Doctor, I'm sorry, but I have to say, based on what I heard at dinner, it sounds like you might have a bit of competition."

The Doctor felt as though she had kicked him in the chest, as the comment completely knocked the wind out of him. It had come out of nowhere, as far as he was concerned, and had packed quite the emotional punch. He stumbled to find verbal footing.

"Competition? Donna, it's not… I'm not… there is no competition."

She chuckled. "I'd bet you're bloody well right, given the choices she has. There would be _no competition._ That is, if you ever decided to try and lift that Martha-coloured fog of yours."

Again, he felt blindsided.

"What the hell are you on about?" he asked, though the heat in his cheeks suggested he knew exactly what she was talking about.

"His name is Tom," she added, in singsong fashion.

"Tom? Oh, she's only been out on two dates with him! She doesn't even know if she's going to see him again!" he argued, forgetting to be clueless.

She burst out laughing. "Oh, and you know this! Awfully quick to answer, I might add!"

"Donna..."

"I thought there was no question of competition. Why does Tom matter at all, then?"

"Did you stay up late just to tease me like a twelve-year-old?" he asked, finally standing up and taking a few steps away.

"No," she said. "I wanted to see what you found out. Nice shirt, by the way."

"Ugh," he said, pulling his hand down over his face. He briefly told her about following Clive and Leo to the bar, the fight, and spending most of the late evening with Martha and her family.

"So, no sign of the alien?"

"Not yet. We'll give it time. It's bound to show itself sooner or later."

"And meanwhile keep Martha well within our sights."

He sighed. "Yes, Donna. We will look after Martha."

Donna gave him a vindicated grin, then asked, "So, how was it?"

"What, seeing her again?"

"Yeah."

"Fine. Great."

"Lot of baggage to sort through?"

"A bit," he said, with a sigh. "I was a bit of a clod with her tonight, I must admit. I really need to think before I speak, you know? But when we found our groove, it was like we were never apart."

Donna smiled. "That's great. I'm really happy for you."

"Why?"

"So, are you seeing her tomorrow?"

"Oh, yeah. I almost forgot: we're going to breakfast tomorrow morning – the three of us. You can try that lobster polenta."

"What? The three of us? Are you sure?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"I mean, Doctor, all joking aside, don't you two just want to be alone?"

"Why would we want that?"

She finally sighed heavily and looked at him sideways the way an auntie looks at a tedious nephew. "Okay, look, you're deflecting like mad, which, I don't have to tell you, probably means that you know exactly what I'm saying, and you just don't want to talk about it. Frankly, Doctor, if I weren't right on-the-money with this, I don't know why you'd be so defensive."

"I see," he muttered, resisting the urge to get defensive.

"Now, normally, I'd really enjoy trying to bring down that wall you've built 'cause it's kind of fun to watch you squirm. But it's late and I want to go to bed. Am I going to have to hit you over the head with it? 'Cause the subtle approach is getting exhausting."

He narrowed his eyes. "I suppose you _will_ have to hit me over the head with it."

She sighed heavily, and with an exaggerated eye-roll. "Come on, Spaceman. I see how you are when you talk about her."

"Excuse me?"

"I see how twitchy you get when you think of her. Whenever you talk about her feelings for you, and how you let her get away…"

"I've never said I let her get away. Well, I mean… I never said, like, _she's the one that got away._ Not like that."

"You didn't _have_ to say it _like that_ ," she told him, with an extraordinary amount of patience. "I'm not an idiot, I can read between the lines!"

"I'm not going to listen to this, Donna. Good night." With that, he walked off down the hall toward bed.

"If you say so."

* * *

At ten minutes before nine o'clock, Martha sat alone, on the multi-tiered terrace, down the hillside steps from the restaurant, enjoying the plethora of red geraniums dotting the patio. Beyond that, there was, of course, an amazing vista of the sea. She waited for the Doctor and Donna to arrive, attempting to calm her nerves with a Mimosa.

And she was kicking herself on the inside, for having those nerves at all. The previous night, yes, it had been completely natural that his surprise appearance would throw her for a loop, especially, as he had said: all at once. Unannounced, late at night, on holiday, with her injured dad.

But today? What was her problem? She had spent most of the night with him, laughing rather comfortably and after a bit, it felt like she had never left. So, why was she _nervous_ about seeing him this morning?

It might be the prospect of meeting Donna. Although, when she imagined Donna in her mind as the Doctor had described her, she sounded like a fun, pleasant person. And especially, if she didn't have any romantic interest in the Doctor, then what was there to worry about?

Well, the unknown was something to worry about. Donna was an unknown quantity, a person in whom Martha had absolutely _zero_ investment, who now lived the very charmed life from which Martha had only recently walked away. Donna shared quarters and adventures and secrets with the Doctor. Six months ago, that had been _her_ lot. Even if both women were platonic to him, and never shared a bed with him, it was natural to feel jealousy, Martha reckoned. She knew the excitement and adrenaline that Donna was experiencing, today, relatively early in her tenure with the Doctor, and as good a decision as it had been, Martha now, inevitably, second-guessed her decision to leave.

But, Donna was only a small part of the equation.

The Doctor himself was the rest of it.

Because, no matter how close they became, no matter how comfortable she and the Doctor were with one another, no matter how many whispers and capers passed between them, she couldn't shake it: she loved him. Six months had not been sufficient to rid her of the cursed _desire_ she felt, whenever she was around him. And not just a bodily, lusty desire for him, but a desire to please him, to have him see her as beautiful, clever, kind, and brave. It was a compulsion to touch him, to ask questions, especially about himself, his past lives, and how he felt, about her, or anything else... and yet, the even stronger compulsion to hold back. It was an urge to watch him bursting with adrenaline, winning the day, succeeding, smiling, being happy, knowing he is needed.

It was the fact that she had self-consciously spent over an hour and a half this morning (after less than five hours' sleep) getting ready for this breakfast, even though she well knew it was not a "date." She had cursed over not having brought a larger selection of shorts, tops and sundresses in her valise, and had changed her mind numerous times about what to wear. She had painstakingly applied her makeup, wanting to seem both radiant and natural. She'd finished off by tying off the front strands of her hair round the back of her head with a small clip.

And, there she sat, in a white and coral-orange floral dress, fitting loosely with an empire waist, and braided spaghetti straps. Underneath, as she had been doing for the past three days since arriving in Mallorca, she was wearing a purple bathing suit, the top half of which tied behind her neck. On her feet, she wore a pair of plastic flip-flops, of a coral colour that matched her dress. She hid a bit behind a pair of sunglasses, and her drink. Free, easy, and glamorous was the effect.

And _that_ was what was making her nervous. After their night awake together, what little sleep she had, it had "reset" her, into starry-eyed mode, made her sick with love and the accompanying feelings of inadequacy. She looked down at what she was wearing, thought about her carefully-crafted appearance, and swore under her breath. Considering her current emotional state, she wished she had just put on her comfy Mickey Mouse t-shirt with khaki shorts, and left her face alone.

A _maître d'_ appeared then, and seemed to be looking past her, but gestured toward her.

"That's her," she heard the Doctor's voice say. "Thank you."

The _maître d'_ then promised to send a server round to take their drink orders straight away, gave a little bow, and then walked off.

Martha stood up, set her sunglasses on the table, smiled widely and said, "Oh, brilliant, you made it!"

The Doctor moved in for the hug, and said, "Of course we made it! We wouldn't have missed it!"


	7. Chapter 7

**Well, now. When we last saw Martha Jones, she was at breakfast, waiting for the Doctor and Donna to show up. She'd got up early to primp, wanting to look breezy but beautiful... and was hating herself for it just a little bit. Aw, Martha, we've all been there.**

 **When last we saw Donna, she was taking the Doctor to task for feelings she has always suspected that he that he has for Martha, and it just gets reinforced as she (sort of) gets to know Martha, and watches him talk about her. This, he vehemently denies (a little too vehemently, in Donna's estimation).**

 **I said that I was having trouble finding emotional truth in that chapter... and I'm still not sure. For one thing,** **I'm trying to portray the idea that Donna is more observant than anyone realizes, and has a high EQ (emotional intelligence). It's a plot device, yes, but it's something I believe is _part_ of the emotional truth of the character. In the past, I've used Captain Jack's character in the same way.**

 **Anyway... enjoy this chapter, everyone!**

* * *

SEVEN

The hug lasted longer than perhaps it should have, for two people who had spent a large chunk of the previous night "catching up." And when they pulled away from one another, Martha was uneasy about having held on too long. She had expressed to him the emotional upheaval at seeing him last night, and had gone to some lengths to look amazing this morning. But today, in spite of all that, she wanted to come across as independent and relaxed. She attempted to cover by pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and looking at the ground.

However, she wasn't the only one clinging just a bit. When the hug was over, the Doctor held onto her hand for a moment longer. While she was fidgeting, shaking off the temporary wave of anxiety, he stole an extended glance at her. She might have missed it, except, when he did let go of her hand, she looked up. Her eyes met his, just for two or three seconds, he smiled warmly, but rather sadly, and it made her blush.

And, she couldn't help but notice the ginger woman he'd brought with him, who was watching them closely.

"Martha Jones," the Doctor said, suddenly, boisterously. "Meet Donna Noble."

The two women shook hands, and Donna said, "Lovely to meet you. I've heard all about you!"

"Lovely to meet you, as well," Martha said.

"Honestly, he talks about you all the time," Donna gushed.

"Yes, I've heard he's told you much," Martha muttered, elbowing the Doctor softly.

"Erm," the Doctor interjected, dodging the issue, indicating the table where Martha had been waiting. "Is this our table?"

"Yeah," Martha sighed.

"Why are there so many place-settings?"

"Yeah, about that," Martha answered, rather sheepishly, sitting down again. "I got sort of _forced_ into inviting my family. Sorry. They'll be along any minute."

"Well, the more the merrier, I suppose," the Doctor decided. "It'll be good to catch up with the Joneses."

Donna laughed, and announced, "Indeed!" and took her place at the end of the table, just opposite Martha, and the Doctor sat down at the head of the table, between them. "So you got cornered, eh? Your family is a bit like mine."

"Delightful, isn't it? Can't have a life of your own, your business is everyone's business..." Martha lamented.

"You said it!" Donna exclaimed.

"My mother popped by my room this morning and asked if I wanted to go to the spa, and I told her I couldn't, that I had plans for breakfast," Martha said.

The Doctor winced. "Ooh! Rookie mistake!"

Martha laughed, looking at him slyly. "I guess I'm a bit out-of-practice covering my tracks."

"Well, to be fair, you never were very good at it," he muttered.

"Yeah, right back at you," Martha muttered back.

"Mum's not a fan, then, eh?" Donna asked.

Martha sighed. "In her heart, she knows the truth. She's seen over and over again that the Doctor just wants to help, he pulls us all out of jams that no-one else can, blah, blah, blah… But her bloody _brain_ will not let her trust him."

"She's your mum. She wants more than anything to keep you safe," the Doctor said, quite seriously. "And I'm not the safest guy to pal around with. She's well within her rights to think you might be in danger when I'm about."

He pointedly avoided Donna's eye, as this statement was all too _à propos_ , just now. With the previous evening's incident with Clive, and the pleasure of getting to spend the previous evening with Martha, he'd almost forgotten, until now, that they were actually here because an unknown alien foe was trying to get the Doctor, by way of _her_. He still wasn't sure how or why. In fact, a bit of this morning's get-together was supposed to be about feeling Martha out, determining if she'd been influenced in any way, and attempting to insinuate himself, and stay close to her for the next few days.

Martha nodded, a bit reluctantly. She couldn't deny what the Doctor had said. Then, she continued, "Anyway, she saw you last night, so it didn't take a genius to know that when I said I had plans for breakfast, it was with you. Do you know, she even glanced over at the bed, after I said that?"

Donna laughed out loud, and declared, "Well, honestly, she's probably well within her rights to think _that_ too."

"Maybe so, but what am I, sixteen years old?" Martha practically ranted. Then, she tried on her mum's tone of voice. " _If there's nothing funny going on, Martha, then why can't the rest of us join you?_ Ugh."

A minute or so passed, during which a waiter showed up, and took their drink orders. Donna decided on a Mimosa like Martha's, the Doctor went with plain orange juice. And, just as the waiter was walking away, Francine Jones appeared, with Tish and Nadine.

The Doctor and Donna stood up to greet them, and Martha followed suit. To his great surprise, Francine made a beeline for the Doctor, gave him a hug, and thanked him, in what seemed sincere fashion, for helping out the night before, with Clive.

"You're very welcome, Francine," he said.

"Just what _happened_ to him last night, Doctor?" she asked, almost pleaded.

"Sorry," he said. "If Clive isn't ready to say, it's not my place either."

"Told you," Martha sang at her mother softly, as Francine sat down beside her.

Tish gave the Doctor a peck on the cheek, and an easy, "Hello, Doctor," then sat down beside Donna.

To Nadine, the Doctor said, "We haven't formally met. I'm the Doctor."

She smiled, shook his hand, and said, "Nadine. It's a pleasure." She took a seat beside Francine, at the end of the table, beside a baby seat.

Martha introduced Donna to the new arrivals, and everyone exchanged pleasantries.

Then, Donna said, "So, I hear you ladies had a morning at the spa?"

Francine, Tish and Nadine went on to extoll the virtues of the resort's massage, mud wrap, and mint-lavender sauna, and suggest that while she is here, Donna really should check it out. As should Martha.

It was only perhaps three minutes before Tish, who was facing uphill, said, "There they are!"

Everyone looked back up toward the restaurant, and saw Leo coming down the stairs, helping guide his father with one arm, and holding his daughter with the other. The Doctor ran up the stairs.

Though looking at Clive's condition now, he felt a sense of foreboding. He swore under his breath.

"Let me help," he said to Leo, reaching out. "Which one do you want me to take?"

"Er, help Dad, if you would," Leo said. "Keisha doesn't take too well to strangers. Thanks, mate."

Leo then walked down the stairs at a normal pace, and joined his family, and Donna, at the _other_ head table, beside his daughter's high chair. The Doctor took Clive's arm.

Curiously, Clive looked him over from head to toe, frowned and said, "Thanks," rather in a non-committal way.

"Don't mention it," the Doctor said, a bit taken aback by Clive's cold demeanour. After a couple of steps, he asked, "How are you feeling this morning?"

"I'm in a lot of bloody pain," Clive snapped. "Jesus Christ, what am I, nine hundred years old?"

"I hear that," the Doctor said. "But what I meant was, erm, last night, Clive, you were able to walk on your own. What's changed?"

"How should I know?" Clive asked. "It's probably because I'm on stairs, innit?"

"I suppose," the Doctor replied. "Nevertheless, either Martha or I should probably examine you again a bit later."

As likely as it was that Clive was correct, that he was walking unsteadily now because he was on stairs, it was equally likely that he'd sustained more damage in last night's fight than the Doctor had initially thought. Clive was looking at him strangely, his progress may or may not have back-slid, and his entire good-natured manner had flipped on its head. He was now snapping in annoyance at the man he was thanking, the previous evening. Though it wasn't unusual for a concussed patient to be irritable over the following days, it _was_ a reason to observe him closely.

"What are your plans for the day?" the Doctor inquired. "I only ask because, well, you should probably take it a bit easier."

"I don't know what my plans are."

"You should avoid any risk-taking, like parasailing or water-skiing. Even just being on a boat could make you mightily sick. And anything too intellectually strenuous could be a hindrance to your recovery, as well."

"What would I do _here_ that's intellectually strenuous?"

"I dunno," the Doctor said, shrugging, as they reached the bottom of the stairs. "Chess? The New York Times crossword?"

"I'll bear it in mind, thanks," said Clive, as he made his way to the last open seat, between Tish and Leo.

As they sat down, Tish was telling a story, and Donna was latching onto it.

"His name was Adrian. I mean, he was so pretty, and he was nice, you know?" Tish was saying. "But… sorry to say, but not the cleverest boy on the block."

"Among other problems," Martha muttered. The look Tish gave her just then seemed to say _shush._

"Oh, no," Donna groaned in commiseration. She tried to keep her tone light, but the look between sisters had not escaped her.

"He took me to the Connaught a few weeks ago… I mean, I know I shouldn't have been so taken in by how gorgeous he was, or how gorgeous the hotel was, but… I'm only human, aren't I?" Tish was asking.

"Indeed," Donna agreed. "Been there myself. Though, I've never had anyone take me to the Connaught Hotel! _Quelle élégance_!"

"Hold that thought, Donna," Martha warned.

"I knew that he repairs refrigerators for a living, and it did occur to me that the place was outside of his price-range. But Donna, oh my God, this hotel… so amazing! Like an aphrodisiac made of brick and mortar."

"Tish, really!" Francine scolded.

"But, he takes me there, right?" Tish continued, right to Donna. "We had the loveliest cocktails and dinner, even ordered the chocolate soufflé, which was heaven in a ramekin. But when the bill arrived, his eyes got really big, and he broke out in a cold sweat."

"What? Hadn't he considered it might be _expensive_?"

"Right?" Tish practically shrieked. "So, he tries to cover it up by saying, 'righ' den, we're going Dutch, yeah, babe? You 'ad de scallops au gratin, and I 'ad de…'" She imitated the man's deep voice, and was intentionally making herself sound like an idiot as she quoted him.

"What?" Donna shouted, followed by another boisterous laugh.

"And I honestly wouldn't have minded picking up the bill if he had just said, 'sorry, love, I misunderstood what I was getting myself into… would you mind? I'll make it up to you later, with a really good home-cooked meal.' Or something! But no. He does this stupid song-and-dance, just _expecting_ me to shell out this money, so I put up a fight."

"'Course you did."

"I mean, sometimes I think, maybe I should have just, you know… not made a scene. Because like I said, I knew he was perhaps a bit on the slow side, and not a rich man, and none of that was really his fault. I should have had more compassion, but blimey, was I annoyed! I told him how bloody stupid he was for not looking at the prices first (and not knowing the price range by reputation – I mean, come on!) and, if he thought he could just bring me here for a nice dinner and then _tell me_ after the fact, to pay my own way, he was even stupider than that!"

Donna laughed out loud.

"Hang on, Donna," Martha said. "You haven't heard the worst part yet."

"It gets worse?" Donna asked, catching her breath.

"Oh yes," Tish said. "Because, he could tell I was upset, so he said, 'okay, babe, 'ow 'bout dis: You don't have to shag me tonigh', dat'll make us even, aw righ'?'"

With that revelation, Donna gasped and laughed, Tish smiled knowingly, Martha shook her head, unamused, and their mother shuddered, taking a sip of water. Nadine and Leo were both engaged in keeping their daughter occupied until she could get some food, and Clive seemed zoned-out. The Doctor, for his part, was listening to Tish, but frankly, paying more attention to Clive.

"So who paid the bill?" Donna asked.

"I did," Tish said. "There was no other choice. Didn't fancy getting chased out of there by security."

"I hope you dropped that bloke like a bad habit!" Donna exclaimed.

"Well, yes, but for a different reason," Tish confessed, her tone suddenly having changed.

"I don't think we need to go into that," Francine interrupted. "Let's just keep things light, shall we?"

Donna was taken aback, a bit, by this sudden stifling of Tish's story. Clearly, the disastrous dinner at the Connaught was not where the story of Daft Adrian ends. But she didn't push it.

The waiter arrived, and took drink orders for the new arrivals. All the women seemed keen on the Mimosas, while Leo ordered a Bloody Mary.

"I'll have the same," Clive said to the server.

The Doctor and Francine both made moves to protest, but it was Martha's voice that won out. "Absolutely not, Dad."

Clive looked at her with a combination of anger and confusion. "Excuse, me young lady?"

"Sorry," she said. "But in your condition, alcohol is a horrible idea."

"In my condition, eh?" he asked, clearly irritated.

"Yes," Martha replied. "And I'm your attending physician, if you will, and I say _no booze."_

"I second that," the Doctor added. "For whatever it's worth."

" _Señor,_ " said the uncomfortable waiter. "We do have an extensive menu of wonderful non-alcoholic cocktails."

"Fine. Bring me a nice, wholesome orange juice," he said this with an exaggerated smile, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Speaking of _your condition_ Dad," Tish sang, as soon as the waiter was out of earshot. "Mind telling us now how you came by that black eye, and that fat lip, and that pesky old concussion?"

"Right, Clive," Francine chimed in, seizing the opportunity. "I think you owe us all an explanation. How in God's name did you hurt yourself?"

"Can't we just have a nice breakfast?" he pleaded.

Francine said, "No, you don't get to do that, after what you put us through last night. Now, explain yourself."

Clive looked at every person at the table momentarily, as though he were a rabbit in headlights. Then, he looked down at the table in front of him, shrugged, and said, "I fell."

"You fell?" Francine asked, skeptically. "What, down four hundred concrete steps?"

"And squarely landed on a doorknob with your eye?" Tish added.

"Yes," Clive answered, still not making eye-contact. "I mean, not the four-hundred bit, and not the doorknob bit, but I did fall down some stairs."

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, Clive," Francine whined. "How much did you have to drink?"

"I don't know," he told her. "Clearly, enough to impair my coordination."

"Still doesn't explain your eye," Tish said.

"I caught a Newell post face-first."

"Newell post?" Francine asked. "Oh, Good God! We aren't talking about the stairs in the hotel lobby, are we?"

"Must be."

Francine groaned with what sounded to the Doctor twenty per-cent shame, and eighty per-cent worry. She looked at her husband with concern, though, and asked, "Have you done any damage? Do we need to pay anyone, or apologise, or what-have-you?"

"How should I know?"

To his surprise, Francine looked at the Doctor. "Do _you_ think we need to pay for anything, or make apologies to the staff?"

"Erm, well… I shouldn't think so," he answered.

"So, it seems like there's more than one reason now, to lay off the drink," Tish pointed out, tactlessly.

"I reckon you're right," Clive said. Then, suddenly, he stood up. "D'you know what? I'm going to sign up for that golf tournament."

"Golf tournament?" Francine asked, incredulous.

"Yeah," Clive told her. "I saw a sign for it when we were walking over here from the suite."

"But, you're signing up _now_? We've just sat down to breakfast!"

"And we're supposed to go jet-skiing today," Tish whined.

"Well, I'm feeling a bit restless," Clive said. Then he pointed at the Doctor, and said, "And that man there, he told me no to take any risks today. Golf is a safer option."

"Dad, you really should eat something," Martha said. "Especially if you're planning on standing out in the sun all day."

"I'll get something later," he told her. "Excuse me."

With that, Clive walked away from the table, and began to make his way further down the stairs. Everyone at the table watched him with surprise and/or worry.

Martha stood up to follow him, but the Doctor stood as well, and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Let me," he said to her.

To his great relief, everyone at the table let him go. Probably because they were too stunned to protest.

* * *

 **I bet you know what I'm going to say now...**

 **That's right... please review! It would make my day! :-)**


	8. Chapter 8

EIGHT

After getting up abruptly from the breakfast table, Clive was moving slowly and carefully. So, it didn't require much effort on the Doctor's part, to catch up, but he hung back and simply watched to see what Clive would do. True to his word, he approached a makeshift kiosk in the middle of one of the hotel's courtyards, where people dressed in golf gear seemed to be queued up, excited about something. Clive joined the queue, and the Doctor approached him.

"Oi," the Doctor said, falling in line at Clive's side. "You okay?"

"Fine," Clive answered, flatly. Then, after a quick beat, he asked, without any nuance or finesse, "Are you my daughter's lover?"

The Doctor was so taken off-guard by the question, which seemed to come out of nowhere, that he stuttered in answering, and the effect was, he knew, unconvincing. "Wha… well… erm, no, why… I mean, why…" he sighed, and steadied himself. "No. We're very good friends."

"Mm," Clive grunted. "Who's the ginger?"

"Who's the ginger?" the Doctor repeated, surprised at the man's tone. "Do you mean Donna? She's a friend, as well. Clive, what is this? What's got into you?"

"You tell me."

"Why did you lie to your family?"

"Did I?"

"Yes, you told them, point-blank, you fell."

"Oh. I suppose that's not what happened."

"No!" the Doctor said, beginning to feel exasperated, and more than a little worried. He tried hard to speak so as not to disturb everyone around them. "Why not just tell them you were attacked in a bar by two drunken hooligans? You got ganged-up on. It was a barbaric, unfair fight! I mean, I know you were hustling pool, and you're ashamed of your behaviour, but I'll bet you anything Leo's already sussed it out. Francine and Martha and Tish, they're bound to find out sooner, rather than later. Best to just come clean."

"Attacked?"

"Are you screwing with me, Clive, or do you have some memory loss from being hit? Or is it just a really bad hangover?"

"Dunno."

"Come on, let's get another look at you," the Doctor insisted, and he grabbed Clive by the head. He examined his pupils, each twice, determining that the concussion was not getting worse.

"Well?" Clive asked.

"From the outside, it seems like you're doing all right, considering. But really, you need an MRI."

"Rubbish," Clive spat, waving him away.

"It would show whether or not you've got any brain bruising."

"Okay. Thanks for the tip."

"And given all that you seem to have forgotten, I would advise you to get some rest today, rather than golfing."

Clive sighed in annoyance, then asked, "Will I see you on the green, or are you going to go back to the restaurant, and continue being good friends with my daughter?"

Now it was the Doctor's turn to sigh. He thought about the bar fight, and the conversation he'd had with Clive just afterwards. He thought about Clive's apparent cluelessness today, and for now, it appeared that his primary objective, in being here with the Jones family, had changed. He needed to keep an eye on Clive, as well as flush out an alien presence.

Although, thankfully, he didn't have to do either job himself.

"Sure, why not? I'll play some golf," the Doctor conceded.

* * *

The Doctor had never been good at golf; he'd had bodies that were decent dancers or musicians, or adept at Cricket or Badminton. But he'd always been rubbish with golf.

Apparently, his tenth incarnation was no exception. Fortunately, his primary goal in participating in this tournament was not to win, but to observe. He saw nothing untoward happening with Clive as they played. Clive wore the demeanour of a man enjoying a sport, though he still seemed a detached. He was rejoicing in his good fortune, basking in the sun, while still addressing the Doctor with a somewhat formal, slightly harsh tone. None of that meant that he had brain damage (though none of it spoke to a _lack_ of brain damage either). Really, it was just weird.

Clive, in spite of the concussion, and the unhelpful heat, came fifth in the tournament. He received a voucher for himself, and a plus-one, to have dinner in one of the hotel bars.

"Right, then," said the Doctor after the hotel activities director had shaken Clive's hand and walked away. "Let's get you out of the sun, and hydrated."

Clive agreed, and the two of them crossed a bit of green to a free-standing bar, that had a few café tables, and some air-conditioning. As they walked past the bar, the Doctor requested two waters. Then they selected a table, the Doctor draped his suit coat over a chair, and they sat. The barman brought them water, and then informed them they needed to order other drinks, in order to remain there.

"Fine, two orange juices," the Doctor said.

"I mean alcoholic drinks," the barman said.

"Okay then, charge two beers to my friend's room, and have them yourself," the Doctor said, rather nonplussed. "It's your lucky day."

"As you wish," said the barman, and he walked away.

"Thank you," said the Doctor. "Blimey, it's a minefield in this place, trying to avoid booze."

"I know why I'm avoiding booze, but why are you?" asked Clive.

The Doctor shrugged. "I don't always avoid it, I just don't fancy it as much as some do."

He did not say, _I've got to stay sharp._

Clive nodded in acceptance, then took a long pull off his water, then stood up to go to the loo. He'd said he wanted to splash some water on his face, and "towel off" a bit.

The Doctor took the opportunity to ring Donna. "Oi. What're you up to?"

"Martha and I are at the pool. The rest of the family went jet-skiing," she said. "You?"

"Just played in a golf tournament with Clive."

"And?" Donna asked. Then she lowered her voice. "Do you think he has brain damage? I mean, he told his family he fell! Is that because he doesn't remember the punch-up, or is he just lying to them?"

"I can't think why he'd lie to them. I mean, the lie he told was just as bad as the truth... what's _that_ about?"

"Yeah, really."

"I think he doesn't remember," the Doctor told her. "Which is why I wanted to stick with him today, and observe. Did you tell Martha the truth, about what happened to her dad?"

"No," Donna said. "Why would I?"

"I dunno."

"Do you want me to tell her?"

"No, not yet," the Doctor said. "Though, I suppose if she's going to be looking after him the next few days, she'll need to know what really happened."

"That makes sense," said Donna. "Well, when will we see you?"

"I don't know yet. That depends what else happens with Clive. We've taken refuge for now in this bar thing… trying to cool down. He's in the loo."

"Okay. Just let us know. We'll be here at the pool for the foreseeable future. Just meet us here when you get ready."

"Yeah, okay," the Doctor said, then cut her off.

That was when Clive returned to the table, and slid into the chair across. "So, I suppose, at dinner tonight, I'll owe my family the truth."

"The truth?" the Doctor asked.

"Yeah, about the brawl," Clive said.

"Oh, yeah, that," the Doctor said, taken aback by Clive's sudden remembrance. "Now, what happened, again?"

Clive buried his face in one hand, then swept it down over his features, as though harried. "Oh, Doctor. Don't make me re-live it now. My wife is going to give me the third degree later."

"Right. Sorry. Are you going to tell them where I fit into the story?"

"Of course, why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know. I just wondered."

"You rescued me," he said. "Without you, who knows what those guys would have done? And it's a bloody good story. I mean, it was right clever what you did – exploding that light bulb, and amping up that emergency alarm! Took down the hooligans without using any sort of violence!"

"Well, apart from the flying glass."

"Apart from that," Clive said, with a chuckle. And, the Doctor couldn't help noticing that his old, easy, disposition was back, complete with sense of humour, and being properly unhappy about that fight, the night before.

"What will you tell them about the fall?" the Doctor wondered.

"The fall?"

"Yeah, the fall down the hotel lobby steps."

Clive blinked at the Doctor a couple of times. "I don't know what you're talking about."

* * *

Whatever anxiety Martha had had about meeting Donna had long-since dissipated. Donna was lovely, and the perfect foil to the Doctor, that much was plain. Martha could absolutely see why he liked her, and what he had meant when he'd said he'd been needing someone like her, who could tell him off, if the occasion warranted. And, based on some of the things Donna had said today, she was someone who could not only tell him off, but call his bluffs, drag his occasional self-effacing, cocksure bullshit out into the open. Martha hoped that someday, she'd get to see that – she imagined it would be immensely satisfying to watch.

Because, now that their tenure as travelling partners was over, and she didn't have the solid blocks of time for months on end to work on "their" relationship, Martha despaired that _she_ would never get to that all-important point of real honesty with him. Her feelings for him choked her at every turn. Case in point, like the Doctor, Donna had lied to Martha about why they were there in Mallorca, but she didn't feel that she could call either one of them on it.

Martha was well-versed in the Doctor's methods, and she knew that their excuse that they were tracking mysterious "electromagnetic activity" was rubbish. He may not even realise it himself, but it was one of his catch-all excuses, when he's covering up something. In addition, when he needs some sort of sciency-babble to convince or distract a foe, he was fond of saying, "reverse the polarity of the neutron flow." The thought of this made her smile.

But the fact that she had been on the receiving end of one of the Doctor's go-to lies, this wound her up more than a little. It was frustrating being in-the-know enough to realise she was being mucked about, but out-of-the-loop enough to get mucked about.

She did a gentle backstroke from one end of the bottom-tier pool to the other, and contemplated. If the Doctor ever lied to Donna, there was no doubt in Martha's mind, that she would loudly, vehemently, demand the truth, and deliver a stunning, threatening lecture. Martha would never dare. Part of it was temperament; Donna was, it seemed, a boisterous person. Martha wasn't exactly shrinking violet, but she wasn't one to get what she wanted by shouting.

Also, at the moment, she was waiting him out, to see if he would eventually reveal his real purposes. Passive-aggressive, yes, but it was one of the few weapons she had left.

But, the biggest difference between her and Donna was the nature of their hearts, when it came to the Doctor. Funny how a person who wants to become closer to him, should keep everything close to her chest, while another person who wants nothing more from him, will hold nothing back. Close relationships require candor and directness, and yet, she could never quite go there. It was, she knew a question of vulnerability, and how much she wanted and needed to protect her heart.

Sometimes, when she thought about how guarded she had been around the Doctor, including last night, she cursed herself within her own mind. Only once, had she ever really said what she felt, and she hadn't said it to _him,_ she'd said it to John Smith. She had never, except for maybe once each, shown him the full impact of her anger or joy. She had never just _sobbed_ in front of him. She had never let him see her unkempt, except for the previous night in her pyjamas, when he'd taken her by surprise. And she had never talked to him about her previous relationships, even when he had asked. She had even been aware, the previous night, of not wanting to reveal any more than necessary about her dates with Tom – the prospect seemed too much, too wrapped-up in _feelings_. She was well aware that this was the opposite of the way one should act, when one wants a deeper and fuller relationship with someone. And yet…

When she reached the end of the pool, a familiar silhouette stood above her at poolside, blocking the sun. Tall, thin, spiky hair, hands coolly in pockets.

"Hi," it said. "How's the water?"

* * *

 **Don't forget to leave me a review! What are your thoughts?**

 **Thank you, as always, for reading!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry the previous chapter seemed so short. I've written this story largely without breaks, and when I've gone back and tried to figure out how to distribute chapter breaks, it's gotten a little awkward at times! Hope you're still enjoying the story enough the keep plugging, in spite of that! ;-)**

 **And if you're enjoying it... let me know! Reviews are love!**

 **When we left Martha, she was doing the backstroke in the hotel pool, musing over how _honest_ Donna seems, where the Doctor is concerned, and how guarded she herself is. We also learned that she _knows_ that the Doctor and Donna have been lying to her about why they're in Mallorca (following electromagnetic activity indeed!). A tall figure with spiked hair had arrived on the pool's deck...**

* * *

NINE

"Hi. How's the water?" asked the shadow looming over her.

"Hi," she said, turning in the pool to face the Doctor's silhouette properly. "The water is lovely. How was golf?"

"Your dad won a gift certificate – dinner for two. But I'm terrible, me."

She chuckled. "Sorry."

"No, I mean, I'm… I'm properly rubbish at that sport," he said, emphatically.

"I thought you'd be good at everything."

"Not that. Fortunately, there are more important things to try and become good at," the Doctor said, taking a pause. "Such as, knowing when to bring in the big guns."

"Okay," she said. "What does that mean?"

He turned toward where Donna was sitting, at a table underneath a sun-shade and gestured for her to come over. He sat down, cross-legged on the concrete, as Donna set her book down, and made her way across to them.

"What's up?" Donna asked.

"Martha, it's time we told you the truth," the Doctor said.

"It is?" Donna asked, now sitting down to dip her feet and calves in the water while she perched on the deck.

"Thank heaven," Martha said. "You didn't really think I was buying that _electromagnetic activity_ thing, did you?"

"Well…" the Doctor began, uncomfortably, then paused. "Until now, I did."

"Why are you really here?" she asked.

He sighed. "An alien with wicked sophisticated infiltration technology and techniques, tried to chase me down. I repelled their ship with a super-thick-mesh forcefield thing around the TARDIS, that even their clever machines couldn't penetrate, and it sent them careening across space. We lost them. But, next thing we knew, they were making a beeline for the Earth, and had docked here in Mallorca."

"Okay," Martha said, cheerfully. "Now this, I believe! Do go on."

"It occurred to us that if they were coming for me, and then couldn't locate me, they might be looking for me on Earth. We had no idea why they'd start in Mallorca, until we started poking around here, and happened to spy your brother. We followed him back to the hotel wing where you are staying, and eventually saw you, and the rest of your family, come out. That's when I knew…"

"It was looking for me, not you," Martha said, quietly.

"Yes. Or, rather, it's planning on getting me, via you. At least I think. I reckon that if you're an alien delinquent and you're trying to make the Doctor come running, a Companion is a good thing to try and mess with, don't you?"

"Indeed," she said. "Thanks for telling me the truth."

"Sorry love," Donna said to her, quite sincerely. "We just couldn't do it before."

"Not until we had more information," he said. "Which brings me to my next exercise in truth-telling."

"Uh-oh," Martha said, eyes darting back and forth between the Doctor and Donna.

"I followed your father into town last night, and into a bar."

"He didn't fall down the stairs in the hotel lobby, did he?"

"No. He hustled a couple of younger blokes at a game of billiards, and took quite a beating for it."

"Damn it, Dad!" Martha said, to no-one in particular. "He used to do that at uni. What was he thinking?"

"I have no idea. But, I got him out, and as much as I thought it would be more prudent to lay low, and not let anyone in your family know I was here… well, I had already been seen. So, I brought him back to the hotel, and… well, that's where you came into the story."

"Wow. Why would he lie to us? Just because he's ashamed? I mean, that's a pretty big lie…"

"He _is_ ashamed, Martha," the Doctor told her. "Last night, when we talked, he seemed utterly appalled at himself for what he had got himself into. But I don't think that's the reason he didn't tell you the truth."

"What other reason is there?"

"His memories are coming and going. This morning, he didn't tell the truth about the fight, because he didn't remember it. When I caught up with him in the queue, signing up for the golf tournament, he was, I believe, genuinely clueless. And, he was just acting weird, in general. He was brushing off a bar fight like it was no big deal, whereas last night, he thought it was a _very_ big deal. And, he asked me…" the Doctor stopped short, and caught himself thinking about the very blunt question Clive had asked, about the Doctor's relationship with Martha. "…well, inappropriate questions, to which your father, in his right might, really should already know the answer."

"Like what? Who's the Prime Minister?" Martha commented. Then she blinked hard, remembering. "Blimey, that's a loaded question."

"The question isn't important. Just listen. This afternoon, after golf, he _did_ remember the bar fight, only he didn't remember _lying_ to you lot about it.

Martha frowned. "Are you saying he has brain damage?"

"That's a possibility," the Doctor admitted. "It's the simplest explanation. But given the circumstances, I think we should also explore the idea that the alien has been influencing him, if not… well, possessing him."

"What?" she asked, deadpan.

"Civilisations that have, as I said, wicked-sophisticated infiltration technology, that can mean all types of infiltration. Technological, and otherwise. They had aggressive tools, capable of hacking through the TARDIS' standard defence systems – and not many can say that. A few, but not many. They could also have tools that hack through a human personality. A human soul, their conscience, their thoughts, and whatever it is that keeps forces out."

"So why not their memories of recent trauma?" Martha asked.

"Good point," the Doctor said. "I don't know. Maybe the size of the trauma is too much to have absorbed, maybe the recentness of it means that…"

"Or maybe it's just brain-damage?" Donna offered. "I mean, it sounds a bit daft to say so, but wouldn't that actually be the _better_ alternative?"

"You know, that's so weird," Martha said, after a moment or two of contemplation, not having listened to what either of her friends had just said. She spoke as she lifted herself up onto the pool deck and climbed out of the water. "Because, day before yesterday, we all went on a historical tour of the island, and when we were leaving the Baleares Coliseu, my mum almost got on the wrong tour bus. She stepped off backwards when she realised it, but the bus driver shut her hand in the door by accident, and began to drive off."

"Oh, my God!" Donna exclaimed.

"I know!" Martha agreed, now sitting beside the Doctor, dripping wet, her feet still in the pool. "Dad and Leo pounded on the side to get him to stop. He only drove a few yards at a very low speed, of course, but still. Scared the hell out of my mum. After it was over, she hyperventilated for a bit, and we had to miss our actual tour bus because we'd taken refuge in a café, to calm her. But then, at dinner, she seemed not to remember it at all. And then when we tried to remind her, she just sort of blew it off."

The Doctor asked, "Did she get a bit dead-eyed and droopy? And when you said, 'Mum, you almost got dragged by a bus,' did she sleepily ask, 'Oh, did I?'"

"Yes!" Martha said. "But then, by yesterday morning, she was remembering again."

"And she didn't hit her head at all?" the Doctor wondered.

"No," Martha said.

"Hm," the Doctor grumbled.

Donna and Martha looked at each other.

"What's, _hm_?" Martha asked him, worriedly.

But his only response was to look at her sideways, with a mixture of worry and dread.

"Why are you looking like that?" Martha asked.

"Like what?"

"Like you're about to tell me that my puppy just died, but also, you're afraid that I might be armed."

"Sorry," he said, curtly, flatly, now avoiding her eyes. "Didn't mean to."

Again, Donna and Martha looked at each other.

"So, what, the truth-telling hour is over?" Martha wondered, impatiently.

"I'm telling you the truth," he said. "I honestly didn't mean to look at you that way. I'm sorry."

"Doctor, what are you not telling me?" she wondered.

When he didn't answer, she sighed with exasperation, and stood up. She walked over to the table where she and Donna had parked their belongings when they'd arrived at the pool. She picked up her towel, and began to dry off.

"You know, Doctor, I'm not stupid," she said, angrily.

"I do know," he said, getting to his feet, as well. He followed her over to the table.

"Good," she said. "So you'll have realised that I actually _noticed_ your demeanour change, after I told you the story about what happened to my mum, with the bus. I _know_ that some sort of _revelation_ came to you just then, and it was to do with me."

He tried to think fast, but had no idea what to say.

"If something is going on with me, or my family, don't you think I have the right to know?" she asked, after he said nothing for an uncomfortably long time. "Especially with an alien on the loose?"

"I don't know," he said. "Possibly."

This caused her blood to boil, but she forced her anger into check, and as a result, she achieved a kind of clarity, just then. She thought about the revelations she was having as she'd been backstroking, just before the Doctor had arrived. Unless life and/or limb had been in danger, she had mostly had her emotional guard up, during their time together. Effusive reactions, with very few exceptions, she held back. She didn't want him to think she was a robot – quite the contrary – but, what if she should slip, and let him know how much she loved and wanted him, in the vulnerability of the moment? Highly unlikely… but _what if?_

But now he knew all that stuff, so what did she have to lose? And so, in the spirit of personal growth, she decided, she needed to be a bit more like Donna in one regard: she should not mince words. This conclusion was not based in the anger of this moment, it was based in years of sadness. It was based in living with the Doctor, despairing that she would ever be on equal-footing with him emotionally, and that she would ever have any kind of honest relationship with him.

She took a deep breath, calmed her agitation, and said the words she'd never have dared say before.

"This really hurts."

With three words, she advanced countless steps.

"Pardon?"

"This really hurts, Doctor," she repeated, her voice even, yet on the verge of breaking. "It's frustrating – infuriating, even – that you show up here, on my family holiday, under false pretences, when you know it would _completely_ uproot me, and disturb any equilibrium I might have. And today, you tell me you're _bringing in the big guns,_ presumably so that I, and my oh-so-mighty-brain can help you out. You give me important information _about my own family_ , but only what you deem to be a need-to-know basis, withholding it after you get the intel that you need. It's unfair, and makes me want to kick you in the face. But mostly… it just hurts my feelings."

Donna's eyebrows went up as she watched from her perch at poolside, and she shifted her eyes between the two of them, nervous for what would happen next. She had an idea that this sort of moment, this sort of honesty, was unprecedented for her friend, and his former Companion. Hope was rising inside of her – this was a step in the right direction.

He thrust his hands diffidently into his pockets, and said, again, "I'm sorry."

"I've worked alongside you – quite closely, as a matter of fact. I've given, as you know, Herculean efforts to becoming someone that you can trust," Martha continued, her voice soft and shaky, but not maudlin. "So, I'm hurt that you would lie to me about why you came here – even if it was for the right reasons. And I'm hurt that you would extend an olive branch of truth, as it were, and then so quickly take it away. I feel like you're just mucking me about somehow - I've felt that since you arrived - and I think I deserve better."

"I'm not just mucking you about," he whispered, unable to speak any louder. He practically had to choke out the words, because her confession was squeezing the life out of him.

"Prove it," she demanded, now standing with one hand on the hip of her purple bathing suit, and the other clutching her towel at her side.

"Martha, please understand…"

"That's what I thought," she said. She moved around him and walked off, up the tiered pool deck, toward the hotel.

For a few moments, he just watched her go, dumbstruck, devastated, and marvelling at how _different_ she suddenly seemed to him.

"Well, come on, you daft Spaceman," Donna exclaimed, cutting across his blank reverie. "Go after her!"

His eyes shifted to Donna's for a few seconds. He registered the seriousness on her face, and wanted nothing more than to take off after Martha. But instead, he said, "I can't."

"Why the hell not?" Donna shouted, getting to her feet.

"Because," he admitted, sadly. "I have nothing to say to reassure her."

"Tell her the truth, you moron!"

"I can't!"

"Why not?" Donna shouted, now even louder, separating the two words by an effective, pregnant pause.

People were now staring.

The Doctor, with a scowl, grabbed her by the wrist and led her over to the table, where Martha's floral dress was still heaped, and under which, her coral-coloured flip-flops still carelessly lay. He pressed down on Donna's shoulders, so she would sit, and then he took his place in the chair across.

"Because, Donna," he said. "The alien jumps bodies."

"Yeah, I gathered that. What kind of person could _not_ remember almost getting dragged by a bus? And how could Clive _not_ remember getting his arse kicked in a pub? I mean, barring brain-damage of course."

"Right. Do the math, Donna."

Her eyes went wide. "Ohhhhhh," she said, slowly, with dawning understanding. "Well, shit.

"Yeah," he muttered, casting his gaze anywhere but at Donna.

"You can't tell Martha about it because she might _be_ the alien now."

"Yeah. And, even if she isn't, I couldn't guarantee that knowing about it wouldn't put her in danger. Or make the information available to the alien, if and when it does take her over... thus putting _me_ in greater danger. Or everyone!"

"Oh, God. I'm sorry I shouted at you."

He looked at her quizzically. "Don't say things like that, it makes me wonder if you're yourself, as well."

"Doctor, if I worked this out," Donna pointed out. "Martha will, as well. She'll come round."

"Yeah, maybe," he sighed, though he didn't sound convinced.

"Come on. She's like… _a lot_ cleverer than me, okay? She's just emotional right now, because she loves you, and she feels rejected when you withhold the truth from her. When you withhold _anything,_ really."

He placed both elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands for a few moments. He let out a growl of frustration, then pulled his hands down slowly. "I hate this."

"Hate what? The fact that she loves you?"

"No! Come on, Donna! I hate this position I'm in, and the fact that I have to withhold information," he said. "She's… right, Donna. She's absolutely right. She has done _everything_ to show me that I can trust her. She was my best mate for two years. Secrets, dangers, both big and small choices… we shared _everything,_ during that time. She is brilliant, and kind, and loving, and… I owe her the truth at every turn."

Donna nodded. "She's an excellent Companion."

"She is," he said, almost inaudibly.

"She's earned the truth."

"She has."

"Mmm," Donna sighed, very pointedly. "Hasn't she just?"

The Doctor met her eye with a scowl. Donna just smirked.


	10. Chapter 10

**In the previous chapter, the Doctor had finally begun being honest with Martha about why he and Donna had come to Mallorca, and told her the truth about Clive's fighting incident. But, almost as soon as he opened up, he shut down again, and she called him on it. The last we saw of her was walking away from the pool area, after having told him of her strong feelings on the topic of being swept aside, and kept in the dark.**

 **Fair warning: this chapter is weird. Things get slightly nuts! But it's all going somewhere...**

 **Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

TEN

The Doctor and Donna entered the TARDIS together, as day-two in Mallorca came to a close.

"She's expecting you," Donna said, in sing-song, almost mocking fashion.

"So you've said. Three times, now."

"She'll be hurt that you didn't go after her."

"Donna, I have nothing of comfort to say to her right now. I'd just be evasive and creepy and make things worse. Tomorrow, I'll try and talk to her properly, with all of my ducks in a row."

"I don't know what that means."

"I don't quite yet, either," he said. Then, "Okay, so… something semi-traumatic, either denied or forgotten. At the very least, the reaction to said semi-trauma is totally inappropriate for the person, totally out-of-character. And this is all, presumably, while the Epidromeas is in control."

"The Epi- what?"

"Epidromeas," the Doctor said. "The alien species we're dealing with."

"Oh. Since when do you know that?"

"Since Martha told me about her mother, and the bus incident. A handful of species or civilisations could infiltrate the TARDIS' standard defences, an overlapping smaller handful could infiltrate a human consciousness. Only one among those can hop bodies."

"Epidromeas?"

"Yep."

"What's it doing?" she wondered.

"My current hypothesis is that it's going through them each one by one, trying to work out which one is Martha. The Epidromeas won't have any idea of male or female, won't understand nuances of personality (obviously), and will perceive all humanoids as looking alike. So it will have to worm inside, and scan the memories of the person it's affecting."

"Could that be why they don't remember the trauma? Memories being messed-with?"

"Certainly could be," he said. "Though I wouldn't know, at this stage, how that actually works. But, in any case, the neurological implications can't be good. Ugh, if only we could tell Martha what's going on… I could use another set of eyes."

"I'll assume you mean that you could use the eyes of a medic," Donna corrected.

"Yes, of course."

"Of course."

"And because we don't know what this will do to the victims, or hosts, in the long-run, we should probably run the alien out of here as quickly as possible. Trouble is, we never quite know where it is. It can't be in one of the Joneses all the time, could it?"

"I dunno! You tell me!"

"Maybe, maybe not. I have no idea exactly how long it was affecting Clive. It could have been anywhere from two to twelve hours. But based on what Martha said, if I'm understanding correctly, Francine seemed to be free of it, after just a few hours. And, if it does, on occasion, leave the Joneses alone, where does it retreat to? Does it have a spaceship parked on the premises, just like we do?"

"Are you seriously asking me?"

"No, just… ruminating."

"All right, so, you'll need to work out a sure way to know whether Martha is being affected," she said.

"Martha or Tish," the Doctor said. "Or Leo, or God forbid, Keshia. Maybe even Nadine, though, she's not a blood relation. I wonder if it would attack her, just because she's spending time with the rest of them? It might even go after Clive or Francine again… who knows?"

"Well, I might be able to help with that," Donna offered. "I could invite Tish to do something tomorrow, and maybe her mum. I could pay close attention to what's being said, and watch out for memory loss."

"You mean like, if they forget something about the conversation you've had?"

"Yeah."

"I don't think that will work. Remember, it has to be trauma, for us to be certain. Something a human would definitely remember. Humans forget pieces of conversation all the time."

"Oh yeah."

The Doctor then fell into a certain stupor, staring, narrow-eyed, into the wall beyond Donna.

"Hello?" she asked.

"Something's bothering me."

"Well, I can see that much."

"The Epidromeas invaded Gallifrey several centuries back."

"Gallifrey could get invaded?"

"Yes," he shrugged. "Not necessarily always successfully, but… it was known to happen. Most famously by the Daleks, literally right before the planet fell."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot. Sorry."

"For the Epidromeas, it was a technology scavenge," the Doctor said. "It's the reason I know about them. They distracted the Council by launching a physical attack on one of the major cities, but the real goal was the computer moles they'd sent into the planet's main server. Infiltration is their M.O., I'm telling you. They did it to steal our technological secrets."

"Like what?"

"Like, how to dismantle our standard defence systems, for one."

"Well, that explains a lot."

"Indeed. But they also gained the codes to our Temporal Timbre Tracking system."

"Your what?"

"It's a way of recognising time stamps," he said, still staring fixedly at the wall. "Or, the residue of time anomalies."

"Okay…"

"Now that I think of it, Donna, when they came to Earth, it probably wasn't specifically to find Martha. They came, scanning for time-anomaly deposits clinging to the humanoid population."

"Oh! I see! They reckoned that you spend a lot of time on this planet, and if they scanned for someone who's been travelling through time, they'd find you, no problem."

"Yes, but they found a certain concentration of it here in Mallorca because Martha, Tish, Clive and Francine are here. The four of them have a big dollop of time-scum on them from being a part of the Year That Never Was. Martha has it more than anyone, because she travelled with me for a year before that…"

"But it got here," Donna reasoned. "Found four people with the 'scum' on them, and reckoned one of them must be you."

"Yep. And now that I'm in the mix… well, it just hasn't found me yet, because it thinks all humanoids look alike. Right? I mean, it has looked _right at me_ and not recognised me. So it's jumping from time-stamped body to time-stamped body, still searching."

"But, Doctor, now that you are in the mix, isn't it just as likely that the thing will infiltrate you or me, as Martha or Tish?"

He finally looked at her squarely. He almost seemed surprise. "Yeah. It is."

"And I'm one thing, but you're another. If it gets you, then what? I mean, what are we doing? What is _actually_ at stake, here?"

He exhaled hard, through pursed lips. "If it gets me, it gets access to most of my memories. Access to the TARDIS. Access to all of time and space. The trust of the Shadow Proclamation, and UNIT. The trust of anyone who knows me."

"Ew."

"Which means, it could go literally anywhere, heavily influence intergalactic law, mess with defence systems on this planet, and dozens of others. It could call in unreasonable favours with about a thousand rulers all across the cosmos. The TARDIS would likely reject it, but it could eventually override the protocols with the knowledge it would get from me, and manipulate the vortex…"

"Okay, so… bad."

"Yeah. Very bad. Frankly, it would have the potential to take over the universe, if it acted quickly enough."

"Well, do you have any idea what its plans are?"

"None whatsoever."

"But wait. If it can scan the memories of the person it's possessing, then why doesn't it know you're the Doctor? Wouldn't it have picked _that much_ up from Clive?"

The Doctor shrugged. "I'm not sure about that, Donna… I guess, it's all part and parcel of the _all humanoids look alike_ , phenomenon. Or maybe it's because Clive doesn't have a particularly strong response to my presence. Francine or Martha would be a different story… maybe it will find me, once it gets under Martha's skin. Or, maybe it's scanning the brain specifically for knowledge of time and space and the TARDIS, all other memories are incidental, and it's not properly tuned into the fact that humanoids have interpersonal relationships, so faces and connections fly under the radar. Or a combination of all those things."

"How are you going to protect yourself? And me? Is there any way you can give us each, and Martha and Tish, some kind of extension of the TARDIS' hard defence system to walk about with, while this thing unfolds?"

"Sorry, no," he answered. "Not in short enough order, and not without being wicked conspicuous."

"So, no prevention, only awareness of infiltration."

"Yes. Possibly. Hopefully."

"I guess that's better than nothing."

"Yes, definitely better than nothing."

"Right, then," Donna said, seeming to have come to some sort of decision. "You know those nutters who jump into freezing lakes in the dead of winter, wearing nothing but, like, Speedos?"

"Yeah."

"Can you take us to one of those events?"

"What? Are you kidding?"

"No. Just take us to one of those things, and then when we're done, bring us right back. Here and now, no harm, no foul."

"Why?"

"Just trust me."

"Trust you?"

"Yeah. You _do_ trust me, don't you?"

"Yes, but…"

"I've worked out a way to be able to tell if one of us is affected by the Epiglottis," Donna announced.

"Epidromeas."

"Whatever. And to do it, you're going to have to take us to a place where barmy, mostly-naked, Russian men are throwing themselves into cold water. What say you?"

"How…?"

"Just do it!" she shouted. "It won't work if I tell you any more!"

He sighed. "Okay," he said, in a way that let her know he was reluctant, and suspected he'd regret agreeing to this. He went to the controls, looked something up, using the console's computer system. He uttered, "7th February, 2009, Lake Labynkyr, Siberia, 9:00 a.m." He made a few adjustments, and threw the TARDIS into gear.

True to form, after about twenty seconds, the vessel stopped making its signature grinding noise, and they knew they'd reached their destination.

"All right, Spaceman," she said, loudly, grabbing him by the hand. " _Allons-y._ "

"Oh, God," he groaned as she dragged him down the ramp and out the door.

They opened the TARDIS door onto what looked to be a frozen tundra, on a snowy, windy day. There were about a hundred people gathered there, none of whom seemed to notice them or the TARDIS, and about ten of whom were dressed in swimming caps, flip-flops, and terrycloth robes. These ten were standing at the edge of a pier, while the spectators stood on the lake's bank. The lake was not frozen, but was still, undoubtedly, unbelievably cold.

There was some sort of countdown, and the men on the pier shed their robes.

"Come on," Donna said, dragging the Doctor down the pier.

"No! No way!" he said, pulling back.

"It looks as though we have some late arrivals!" said an announcer. "How delightful! Don't be shy, sir! Join in this time-honoured tradition of our great village of Oymyakon!"

"See? They want us here," Donna said. "You can't back out now!"

"Can't _back out?_ I never… _forwarded in_!" the Doctor protested.

"And madame? Do we have this decade's only female participant, at last?" asked the announcer.

"Bloody right!" Donna shouted back.

"What? You too?" the Doctor asked, now inching down the pier, at Donna's urging.

The countdown restarted as the participants all welcomed the newcomers to the venue.

"Donna, this is bonkers!"

"I know!"

"Three, two, one!" the crowd and participants all shouted.

With that, all ten men jumped into the freezing water, to great cheers of delight from the spectators.

A second later, Donna shoved the Doctor hard enough by the arm to knock him off balance, and topple him, yelling, into the water.

All eleven men came up shouting obscenities about the cold.

And Donna, she took a deep breath, stripped off the red, short-sleeved blouse she'd chosen on that morning in Mallorca, and tossed it aside.

"Donna! What the hell are you doing?" the Doctor shouted, still heaving breathlessly from the shock, gaping in stupefaction at his Companion, standing on the pier in a pair of black linen shorts, sandals, and her white lace bra.

"Shut up, before I change my mind!" she shouted back, before holding her nose and hurling herself into the water.

The shock was more than anything she ever could have prepared herself for. Her body tensed, and for a few terrifying moments, actually seized up. It felt like knives were penetrating every inch of skin. She had to fight not to scream, hyperventilate, and drown.

But mission accomplished, eh?

Also, a hundred strangers had just seen her with her top off.

A hundred strangers, and one non-stranger… which might actually have been worse.

She felt addled, but regained her focus soon enough. And when she surfaced, she could hear the crowd going wild. When she and the other participants climbed out of the water, and women came toward them with heated towels, the first person aided was Donna. She thanked them, but ran, with the Doctor, back into the TARDIS.

Without a word, the drenched Doctor moved the ship back to a sunny day in Mallorca, five minutes after they'd left.

"That was bloody stupid," he said to her, throwing himself back onto the stool. He began to peel off his suit coat and tie.

"Maybe," she said, heading toward the hallway. Then she turned toward him and opened her towel, revealing her bosom, the white bra clinging to it like cellophane wrap. "But will _you_ forget it, anytime soon?"

And she turned on her heel and headed toward her bedroom. A few moments later, he heard the shower running.

He chuckled to himself. "Okay, Donna. Point taken," he mumbled, though she couldn't hear him anymore.

He headed toward his own room, to warm up under the shower, as well.

* * *

She was somewhat aware that she was being juvenile, but no-one was around, so she didn't care. In fact, she rather revelled in it.

Martha was hiding out in her hotel room, watching television, eating pasta from room-service, while her family was out at some beachside restaurant, having the freshest Swordfish in the world. They obviously weren't blind to Martha's inner-workings; they (especially Tish) knew that her sudden onset of withdrawal had something to with the Doctor.

He hadn't really done anything wrong… well, that was always the problem with him, wasn't it? When it came to her, he never _did_ anything. He never took initiative – she usually did the work, friendship-wise. And today, he couldn't even be bothered to follow her away from the pool, when she'd walked off, hurt.

Hurt. Not angry.

She could understand, if she had yelled and screamed, and made a scene, why he wouldn't be keen to go after her. But after he had _hurt_ her, that was different.

And that made it _hurt_ even more.

She had accepted that he didn't love her, but she was having trouble abiding the idea that he _cared_ so little about her. Was he so comfy with her as Guarded Martha, that a bit of honesty, a straightforward emotional response, made their entire rapport go out the window?

But, all relationship nonsense aside, on a practical level, she felt, her own family was at stake, and she had the right to know what was on the Doctor's mind, concerning them. She had worked out straight away that the alien stalking them can jump bodies – it didn't take a genius. But knowing that, shouldn't the Doctor be _more_ forthcoming with information, not less? Shouldn't he tell her every revelation he has, so that she can do everything she can, to protect her family? Because it had already infiltrated her mum, then her dad, next likely was Tish or maybe even…

She sat up straight on the bed, pasta bowl in her lap and said aloud, to no-one, "Oh! Oh, I'm such an idiot!"

 _She_ could be next! And the Doctor didn't want to give her any knowledge or reveal his plans, for fear that _she_ was the alien, pumping him for information! And that's also why he hadn't come after her!

She got up from the bed, and began to pace in her pyjamas. She wanted to call him, go find him, see him… to apologise? To tell him she understood? But what good would that do? He'd only withhold from her again (as always?), and rightly so.

She was so tense while she paced, that she literally shrieked when her mobile phone rang.

"Hello, you," she said, knowing very well who it was.

"Why are you out-of-breath?"

"You scared me."

"Oh. Sorry," the Doctor said.

"I'm glad you called," she told him. "I wanted to apologise for being such a child today."

"No need to apologise," he assured her. He wanted to say _because you deserve the truth, and have every right to be upset,_ but he refrained, prudently. "I wanted to apologise for being all mysterious and weird about things."

"It's okay."

"Can I make it up to you?"

"Sure. What did you have in mind?" she asked.

"Fun day on the beach tomorrow… just you and me. Maybe rent a boat?"

She smiled. "Yeah. That sounds great."

When the call was over, Martha began the process (again) of accepting that this little appointment of theirs was not going to lead to anything…

* * *

 **Thanks for staying with me! Only fair now to let me know what you think, by leaving a review!**


	11. Chapter 11

**More fun in the sun for our heroes...**

* * *

ELEVEN

"What are you up to today?" the Doctor asked, stopping in Donna's bedroom doorjamb, as she threw her wallet, a pair of sunglasses, and her phone into a purse. She was wearing floral dress, and a wide-brimmed hat.

"I phoned Tish last night to see if she wanted to go to Paseo del Borne with me," she answered.

"And?"

"I believe her exact words were, _abso-fucking-lutely._ "

"Good to hear."

"Erm, should I be asking you about yesterday's trauma, just to make sure you're not an Epididymis?"

"An Epidromeas," he corrected. "And I suppose it couldn't hurt."

"You do remember?"

"Yes, I remember you pushing me into a freezing lake, in my clothes, in front of a hundred people, and that the impact was an immediate all-over ache, like a hundred hot knives." He shuddered a bit.

"I remember the same sensation," she assured him. "And that I _didn't_ do it in my clothes."

"Right," he said, clearing his throat, then switching gears. "So, what's Paseo del Borne?"

"A posh shopping district in Palma. Should be just about a half hour's drive, if we call a taxi. And I think her mum and Nadine are coming, as well."

"Sounds promising," he said, with a light smile. "Is this a reconnaissance trip?"

"Well, I don't know what sort of reconnaissance I'll be able to do while I'm livin' it up at Louis Vuitton, but I'll give it a go."

He chuckled.

"Okay," he said. "Tell Louis I said hi."

"Will do," she promised. "And yes, it shall be a bit of reconnaissance. I'll pick their brains. Gently, and if the opportunity arises. What about you? I've never seen you dressed that way before!"

She looked him over, and noted the brown, knee-length swimming trunks with blue piping along the edges, and the "Mallorca" t-shirt he'd worn two evenings prior, when he'd been following Clive and Leo. On his feet were a pair of leather flip-flops, and on his head, a pair of chic sunglasses. A grey duffel bag was slung over his shoulder across his torso.

"Beach. Possibly a boat."

"With Martha?"

"Yep."

"Is _this_ a reconnaissance trip?"

"Yes," he answered, definitively. "And also, an I'm-sorry-for-being-such-an-arse trip."

"Sizing her up for evidence of infiltration?"

"Yeah."

"And for anything else?" she asked, uncharacteristically flatly, but holding in a giggle.

"Bye, Donna," the Doctor said, turning, walking down the hall.

She laughed.

"But you'll have your mobile on you, yeah?" she asked, after a few beats.

"Of course," he answered.

"I will too. Keep in touch."

"Okay," he said. He stopped at the archway between the hallway and the console room, and looked back at her. "Seriously… step lightly. One of those ladies could be infested with an alien presence, just waiting for someone to slip, with precisely the right intel."

"Gotcha. And oi, you step lightly too, Spaceman. Whether she's _infested_ or not, she's not your _project_."

"I know."

"She's also not stupid," Donna pointed out. "And if you insult her intelligence, you're going to lose your shot."

"My shot," he repeated, shaking his head.

"Yeah. At her. At the alien. At everything. So just behave."

"Bye, Donna."

* * *

As he walked down the grassy hill, approaching the agreed-upon meeting spot on the sprawling beach, he scanned the crowd and happened to spot her. She was standing beside a green and white umbrella, which was laying on its side in the sand. He guessed that she had rented it, and intended to spend some time on the beach, in its shade. She seemed to be scrutinising the sea just now, and she attracted a leering glance from two muscle-bound blokes happening by (which, mercifully, she didn't notice). After a few moments, she sat down, disappearing behind the umbrella.

A minute later, he approached the umbrella from the side. "Hey, you."

"Good morning!" she said, sprightly. She was busy spraying a fine mist of sunscreen over herself. She was sitting in a ground-level folding chair, and had set one up beside her, for him.

"Good morning," he returned, setting his bag down, and planting himself in the chair on her left.

"Did you have any trouble finding me?" she wondered.

"Do I ever?"

"Hm. Sunscreen?" she asked him, offering him the spray can. "Or… do you need that sort of thing? Gee, I never bothered to wonder…"

He smirked. "I _do_ need that sort of thing, but I'm already covered, thanks."

"Well, I brought some water bottles for both of us, but we've got this little flag thingie here," she explained, indicating a yellow piece of plastic affixed to a wooden stake. "If we put it upright in the sand, the wait staff will know that we want something."

"Wow. They will serve you alcohol, literally, anywhere. Do they have wait staff on the water as well? Like, if you go out two miles on a Catamaran, and you fancy a Sangria, will they send someone out? Or, do they have a bar, like, on an outpost a few kilometres offshore?"

"Wouldn't put it past them, either way," she sighed. She settled into her chair, and made herself comfy.

"So what are your Dad and Leo doing today?" he asked her.

"Low-impact fun for Dad: they're taking Keisha to the baby water park, while the ladies go on their shopping trip."

"Good for them. Seems like Donna and your sister are really getting on."

"I know, it's amazing!"

"Where are they headed again? Shopping, I know, but…"

"Paseo del Borne," she answered. "Posh shops, pretty people, snooty food…"

"You didn't let me keep you from joining them, did you?"

"It's not really my cup of tea," she told him.

"All right," he muttered. "So, what _is_ your cup of tea, Dr. Jones? Fishing, sailing, jet-ski, horseback riding?"

"I liked your idea of renting a motor boat later," she said. "They say the view of the island from the water is spectacular."

"I'll bet it is."

"But for now, I'm happy just to sit here, watch the waves, watch the people, have a chat. When it gets too hot, we'll have a swim, maybe a cocktail."

"I'm glad to hear that," he said, truthfully. Because he had not been lying when he'd said that part of today's objective was reconnaissance, to determine whether Martha had been infiltrated yet, and/or, whether she was being ruled by the Epidromeas, even now. He felt they were pushing a clock, because it was just a matter of time before Martha became its victim, and, if he was right, once that happened, if it had access to most of Martha's thoughts and feelings, the alien would likely know how to find the Doctor.

Although, from her demeanour, thus far, he felt it was fairly unlikely that she was anyone other than herself. When he'd spoken to Clive, while he was being driven by the Epidromeas, his mood had been odd, his deportment completely off. Not to mention, he had forgotten a fairly traumatic event, and did not seem properly appalled, upon learning the truth!

Martha seemed mostly normal. Although, since yesterday, he had been noticing something just a bit different about her. It felt to him that she was more at-ease in his presence, especially since she was so scantily clad, appropriate though it may be for the settings – yesterday's pool and today's beach. He recalled, during their year travelling together, they'd taken some down-time at a hot spring in Iceland. He got into the water with no problem, but Martha kept finding reasons not to take off her robe, even though she had a bathing suit on underneath. And the more he coaxed her, the more fidgety she became. Only later did he realise why. Eventually, he'd got distracted helping an elderly lady out of the water, and when he'd looked Martha's way, she'd got into the water, without his having seen her do it.

Yesterday and today… different story entirely. He didn't feel he could completely rule out the possibility that this was due to some unnatural phenomenon, unfortunately. It was just possible that the Epidromeas was _learning_ about them, as it searched for the Doctor, and acquired more and more traits that would allow it to assimilate. And with her, he wanted to take no chances. So, he reckoned, he ought to dig.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked, catching him staring thoughtfully at the sea.

Here was his opportunity to dig.

"Mm? Oh, just, you know… our time together."

"Really?" she asked, with a slightly incredulous smile.

"Sure, can't help it. Seeing you again has brought up all sorts of memories. Hasn't the same happened to you?"

"Of course, but, I have a slightly different outlook on it, than you do."

"Yes, well. I've been thinking about… well, trauma," he told her, truthfully. "Its effects. Its imprint upon the soul. And I worry."

She sighed, though smiled a bit. "Leave it to you to make a beautiful morning in Mallorca seem dark."

"I'm sorry," he said. "But you asked."

"Yes, I did," she admitted, lightly. "And anyway, it's fine. It's very you. Being a bit of a dark, tortured soul, no matter where you go… part of the magic that is the Doctor."

"I suppose that's one way of looking at it."

"And I can handle it. I can handle _you._ Say what's on your mind."

"Oh, you were right. This isn't the time, nor the place," he said, groaning, feigning coyness. "It's a gorgeous morning, why spoil it?"

"If getting a few unadulterated hours with a close friend isn't the time to talk about your inner turmoil, then when is? In the dead of night, with a stranger, after six shots of whiskey? Or… do Time Lords see therapists?"

He smiled, in spite of himself. "No, I reckon we don't."

"At least it's sunny, and we can hear laughter all around us. The setting is unlikely to make us _more_ miserable."

And he dropped the coy act, and began to further seize the opportunity.

"It's just… okay, look. I've travelled the universe for a long, long time, Martha. And I've learned, at least somewhat, to deal with the ghosts. The people I couldn't save, the mayhem I've seen, the terrible situations I've had to bear, the brushes with death and whatnot. You just said I'm a tortured soul, but after eight hundred years of this, I'd be much _more_ tortured, if I couldn't compartmentalise to some degree."

"I imagine that's true."

He looked at her rather seriously now. "It's _you_ I've been worried about."

"Me?"

"Yeah. I've got centuries' experience dealing with this rubbish. But seeing you the other night, it brought up all these memories, and just drove home how… well, how much I've screwed up your life."

"You haven't screwed up my life. What gave you that idea?"

"Well, first of all, there's all the rubbish with the Master," he said. "Dragged your family into it, even, and _they_ had had absolutely no stake in the matter, whatsoever. At least _you_ made the choice to get involved with me, and could assume a tiny measure of responsibility. Your mum and dad, Tish… they were a completely different kettle of fish."

"Yeah," she said, nodding. "Can't say they aren't just a bit the worse for wear. But we're getting along fine. Every day, the impact seems a bit less. Part of that is due to just… well, being together."

He smiled lightly. "You lot… you are extraordinary, you know that? You and your whole family."

"Thanks. We think so," she chirped.

"Okay, then," he said. "Putting all of _that_ business aside, when I say that I worry about screwing up your life… I mean, Martha, even _before_ we got entangled with the Master, there were dozens of other traumatising things that you went through that I never even _asked_ you about."

"Yeah, I suppose there were."

"Like the thing with Riley Vashtee in the escape pod," he said. Now, he was probing her.

"Yeah," she said quietly. "I guess I did have nightmares about that for a while."

"How could you not, after what almost happened?"

"Drifting toward an angry sun in an unprotected space pod…" she mused. "But it's okay."

This detail was good. It was trauma that she could remember.

"I put you in danger, then ignored the fact that you'd perhaps had the most terrifying experience of your life. How is _that_ okay?"

"It's okay because especially that day, you had your own trauma to deal with," she reasoned. Then, her tone took a turn. "Besides, faith in you, it's a surprisingly powerful antidote to fear."

"Thanks."

"No, I mean it. Some part of me always believed you'd save me. Even when I was sobbing hopelessly into Riley's shoulder."

He took a deep breath, with memories now flooding his brain, of things Martha had been through, on his watch, things for which she should rightfully hate him.

"Did you feel that way also when you were kidnapped, five billion years in the future?" he asked, probing her further… and also genuinely curious, and wanting to actually _deal_ with these things now, to his own surprise. "Or when you were being marched through the sewers by Daleks set upon making you part of some butchery experiment? When you were hanging by your fingertips, twenty stories up, in Southwark Cathedral?"

"Yes," she said simply. "I did."

"Those things don't stay with you?"

"Of course they stay with me," she admitted. "I was dragged away from you at gunpoint, drugged, and tossed into a truck with strangers, for God's sake. That'll stay with anyone."

He groaned, and pulled one hand, harried, down over his face.

She continued, "I was marched underground through a damp tunnel, and told that I would be hybridised with an alien life-form. I had wooden splinters digging into the flesh under my fingernails, as I nearly plummeted to a splattery death on a stone floor. I spent six months doing menial labour, being degraded because of how I look, three months in 1969, and even worse, another three months in 1913. That last bit I did without you by my side. That's not even mentioning the trek across the world I took, under constant threat from a bona-fide _tyrant_. That's more insanity than most people see in a lifetime! And I won't say that those times with you, and without you, weren't traumatic. I won't say that I didn't feel some fairly intense fear, Doctor, but you…"

She took a deep breath, and looked him over, unabashedly, in a way that he had never seen her do before.

"Me? What?"

"You are a buffer against fear, for those of us who know you. At least, from the kind of sharp, blinding fear that leads to hopelessness."

He thought about these words: _you are a buffer against… hopelessness._

This was something he had always striven for, for the sake of the universe, his Companions, and himself. And it wasn't the sort of revelation he'd been hoping to extract from her today. So, for just a moment, she had disarmed him. In the best way possible.

"That, Martha Jones, is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

"I'm not saying it to be nice."

"That's why it's so nice," he told her, with a smile.

But within a few seconds, his guard was back up.

Because, she reached across the space between them and took his hand. They sat this way for a few minutes, her thumb running affectionately back and forth over his index finger. It was the first time she had ever made such an intimate gesture, of her own accord.

It gave him a frisson. For two reasons, actually, not the least of which was the fact that it made him wonder if _this_ Martha had somehow _forgotten_ the nature of their relationship. Was she freer, more demonstrative, more _confessional_ because of influence from the Epidromeas? Or was it just a maturity thing, an evolution thing?

He would have liked very much just to sit, and enjoy her touch, but too much was uncertain.

The immediate question was this: though she had shown that she remembered the great traumas of her life (which would seem to indicate that he was talking with Martha Jones, and no-one else) she _was_ acting out-of-character, somewhat. So, was she acting of her own more-highly-evolved accord? Or was the Epidromeas taking liberties with their relationship? Maybe even through residual energies from a previous possession, which was a new horror that hadn't occurred to him before now…

Again, he realised, with Martha, he wanted to take no chances. He let go of her hand, and knelt on the sand in front of her.

"Martha, please forgive me for what I'm about to do."

A rush of excitement and turmoil came over her just then. She remembered the last time he'd planted himself in front of her, and asked her to forgive him for what he was about to do.

"Okay…"

"It's going to seem completely daft, but I promise, it has a purpose."

"Okay."

"Will you get up, and kneel, please?"

"Sure," she said, doing as he asked.

He looked her straight in the eye and said, "I'm the Doctor."

"What?"

"It's me you want. I'm the Doctor, the Time Lord, the Oncoming Storm… whatever you like."

"Have you lost your…"

He took her by the jowls and got even closer, their eyes just a couple of inches apart.

"Take me. Leave Martha alone."

"Doctor, it's me!" she insisted, grabbing him by the forearms, trying a bit to resist.

His voice grew hard, intense. "Feel me. Search her, and feel me. Feel a connection. Scan me for time anomalies… I'm full of them!"

She moved her hands to his chest, and pushed him backward into the sand. "Doctor, would you stop it? I'm clean! I'm not a bloody alien! Would you relax?"

They both looked around a bit, because they had attracted a few wondering glances from fellow beach-goers.

He eyed her, slightly suspiciously. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she said, with another incredulous smile. "I swear it. I mean… I guess I'd swear it, even if I _were_ an alien, but… seriously. I know what you're thinking – the thing jumps bodies. But I'm one-hundred-per-cent Martha Jones."

The Doctor searched himself for signs of insidious possession of any sort, and he felt nothing.

"All right. You're you," he said, getting back up. "Sorry. I had to know."

"I understand. Now, let's go for a dip, yeah?"

She stood up in front of him, brown skin, purple bathing suit, beauty personified, and reached out for his hand. He took it, and allowed her to help him stand up. They walked hand-in-hand toward the water, but the Doctor, true to form, could not quiet his thoughts.

 _Now what?_ he wondered.

* * *

 **I know this wasn't the most exciting chapter ever, but let me know what you're thinking anyway! You can leave a review, and make it my Valentine's Day gift!**


	12. Chapter 12

TWELVE

Donna was very much enjoying the sun, the company, and the flush atmosphere. But, she was finding that there were not many things in the shops that she felt she _had_ to have. She was not disappointed that she wasn't able to spend at will, as were the Jones women – she was just happy to be there. And of course, possibly to help the Doctor out by talking with them, should the opportunity arise, to flush out an alien interloper.

And arise it did.

She and Tish, Francine and Nadine had just begun discussing what they might like to have for lunch, when Tish's mobile phone rang. They all stopped on the sidewalk momentarily, while Tish searched through her purse.

When she found it, she looked at the display. "Sorry, It's Vanessa," she told her mum. "I have to take this call, or she'll think I've died."

"She'll think _you've died?_ " Francine asked, nonplussed.

"Yeah, I left an overwrought message a few days ago while she was on holiday in South America," Tish explained, while walking away to get a bit of privacy. "I was scared and crying, and... well, you know."

"Oh, I see," Francine said, and she drifted over to a small area where there were a couple of benches facing each other, shaded by lush palms, and sat down with Donna and Nadine. Tish stepped into an alcove formed by the bay windows of two adjacent shops.

"Who's Vanessa?" Donna asked.

"Vanessa is Tish's best mate," Francine reported. "They've known each other since primary school."

"Oh, that's nice. Why might she think Tish has died?" Donna wondered, aware of her cheek. She reckoned that if the Jones women didn't want her to know, they were perfectly welcome to tell her to butt out. It's more or less how she had operated, her whole life.

Francine and Nadine looked at each other knowingly. "It's about that bloke, Adrian, that she was telling you about at breakfast yesterday," Francine answered. "The one who couldn't pay the bill at dinner."

"Oh. I thought there might be a bit more to that story than just one disastrous dinner at the Connaught," Donna said.

"Well, Tish decided to forgive him for that little episode, which is… well, her own business. And she and Adrian were together another couple of weeks, and actually, he was supposed to come with us on this trip."

"Really? That's a surprise."

"Well, I wasn't keen on it, but Tish was begging to have him along. And Clive started _pontificating_ on how this trip was all about family and fun and acceptance, and shaking off our difficult past, and all that, and how could we do any of those things, if we were going to say 'no' to bringing along someone Tish cares about…"

"Okay, fair enough."

Francine's voice dropped to a secretive, almost conspiratorial, tone. "Anyway, two nights before we left, Tish was over at Adrian's for tea, and happened to see that he'd been packing a duffel for the trip. So, she started going through the bag, I guess, just to make sure he was bringing the right things… I don't know. But anyway, she found this little satchel she'd never seen before, and she opened it and found syringes."

"Oh no!"

"Tish mentioned how pretty he is, didn't she?"

"Yeah."

"Well, he isn't just pretty. He's also very well-built. Muscular, like an athlete."

" _Gorgeous_ with his shirt off," Nadine chimed in.

"But, he was taking steroids, wasn't he?" Donna asked, her heart beginning to beat faster.

"But in the moment, when Tish confronted him about it, he had nothing to say – he just went straight into a rage," Francine explained, clearly trying hard to remain calm.

Donna gasped. "No!"

"He struck her. Only once, but quite hard, across the jaw. The bruise is already pretty small, though. It's almost unnoticeable."

"I hadn't noticed!" Donna pointed out.

"She's been covering it with makeup," Nadine explained.

"After hitting her, Adrian basically trashed the parlour – overturned tables, broke lamps, toppled over the TV. Thank Heaven he was in his own home, destroying his own things. Tish grabbed her purse and keys and ran out of there while he was raging in the kitchen."

"Oh, my God!"

"Later on, he called, and claimed he'd just started with the _doping,_ or whatever they call it, that it hadn't been an ongoing thing. Tish believes him, because she feels she'd have seen the signs before then… as you know, he wasn't really clever enough to hide the symptoms…"

"But, doesn't it take a while for 'roid rage to set in?" asked Nadine. "Personally, I think he's blowing smoke up her skirt."

Francine nodded. "Very likely. He apologised of course, probably sincerely, but Tish would have none of it. She broke up with him then and there." She turned her gaze rather wistfully toward her daughter, ten metres away. "I guess she must have rung her friend Vanessa in the heat of the moment…"

"… and she wants to reassure her friend that she's all right," Donna surmised. She now studied Tish as well. "Actually, you know, she seems okay. She's having a good time, isn't she?"

"It seems so," Francine sighed. "It was an isolated incident, she's broken it off. And she's not afraid that he'll come after her, or anything."

"I've been laying odds that her flat will be filled with roses when she gets home from this holiday," Nadine said with a little smirk. "It's the sort of rubbish guys like that do to apologise."

"Wow, you folks have had a hell of a few days," Donna commented, thinking of Francine's tour-bus scare, and Clive's punch-up. She wondered if, from their point of view, having her and the Doctor turn up during their holiday also counted among those incidents.

It was then that they noticed, Tish was redepositing her phone back into her purse, and moving in their direction.

"Well, I think all is right with the world," Tish chirped. "Vanessa knows I'm alive. She has some stunning photos of Greece to show off. Status quo."

"Good," Francine said, squeezing her daughter's hand. "Now, let's get back to talking about lunch."

* * *

"Hi, Donna," the Doctor said, knowing who was on the other end of the call.

"Are you alone? Can you talk?" she asked.

"Not really," he said. "But yes."

He was currently standing knee-deep in the Mediterranean, playing frisbee with two boys who appeared to be about twelve, and to have no parents in the vicinity.

"First of all," she said. "Are you cold at all?"

He smiled, catching the frisbee. "No, as a matter of fact, I'm quite sun-kissed at the moment. No hint of an icy Siberian lake remains on my person. Thanks for asking. You?" Tossed the frisbee.

"Not cold, but still traumatised," she sighed. "Kind of wishing I'd just left my kit on, actually. Where's Martha?"

"She's gone to reserve a motor boat for later this afternoon. What are you up to now?"

"I'm outside the restaurant where we just had lunch," she said. "The others are inside, still waiting on dessert. Now, Doctor, listen. Francine told me about an episode, two days before leaving on this trip, when Tish's daft boyfriend Adrian got caught using steroids and flew into a violent rage, aimed at Tish."

He motioned to the boys that he had to take the call, and that they should continue the game with each other. The boys adjusted their positions on the beach, and that was that. "Whoa. That guy just gets better and better, the more I hear about him."

"He even hit her," Donna emphasized. "Apparently quite hard, across the jaw. She had to grab her things and rush out of his flat when he wasn't looking, and phoned her mate, Vanessa, apparently a nervous wreck. The whole thing sounds just awful. But guess what! Tish doesn't remember it!"

"Ohhh," the Doctor groaned, and pinched his forehead between thumb and fingers. "Oh, God."

"At lunch, before the food came, she said she had to go to the loo so, I went with her… you know, ladies always go in pairs."

"Yeah… what's that about?"

"Anyway," she continued. "I asked her about it while we were both washing our hands. I braced myself to act nonchalant, just in case she should not remember it… I didn't want to give myself away or anything. And Doctor… nothing. _Nada_. She looked at me, completely clueless."

"Did she seem surprised by it? Upset by it?"

"No," Donna said. "It was right creepy. She had this sort of droopy, sideways smile on her face, and made a sort of _snort_ when I began to elaborate a bit, on what her mum had told me. But I didn't tell her everything."

"Good. What about now? Is she okay now?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. She hardly said a word throughout lunch… Nadine and Francine chatted like mad, but Tish was only interested in her salad. When I left the table, she was sitting there, still just listening."

"Did she watch you go?"

"I don't think so," Donna told him. "She didn't seem interested in the fact that I was leaving the table. I wondered if she'd begun focusing on Nadine."

"Possible. Even though, Nadine doesn't have the time-junk on her. But she _is_ part of the family circle…" The Doctor sighed heavily. "I hate to say it, but I sort of hope that this thing _does_ start to think outside the box, and wonder if Nadine and Leo are involved. I mean, not for _their_ sakes, but…"

"…but if not, it means that Martha's definitely next."

"Right. Or you, or me."

"Ugh," she groaned. Then, she seemed to think for a moment. "But here's the weird part, Doctor. When I pushed further, and asked about how her family was getting on after being prisoners of the Master for a year, she seemed to remember that."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Donna reported. "She even commented on how _her_ family didn't even have it half as bad as others, who were forced into labour camps…"

"Actually, Martha was in one of those camps for a while, on her trek."

"…and she talked about how _watching_ Japan get destoyed couldn't have been half as bad as _being in_ Japan when it was destroyed."

"She said that?"

"Yeah. Is it true – did the Master destroy Japan?"

"Yep. Torpedoes, missiles, bombs, flame-throwers, nukes, you name it. Burned it from roots to skyscrapers. And made us all watch."

"Why?"

"Because he's stark-raving bonkers, Donna," he said. "Also, evil and drunk with power."

"So, she remembers a trauma from over the past year, from months back, but not something from, what… last week?"

The Doctor contemplated this for a few moments, while he paced in the water. "You know, to be honest, I'm not surprised. I was beginning to form a hypothesis yesterday, about why Clive couldn't remember something so recently imprinted on his psyche… or rather, why the alien couldn't find it, once it was inside his mind."

"Okay, what's your hypothesis, then?"

He paced in the water. "Trauma takes a while to sink in… as quickly as one can be horrified or appalled by it, the actual _impact_ of a trauma can be unclear for weeks or months. While the mind is still chewing on it, it's too nebulous, too intangible, too _blurry_ , to be accessible to spy equipment, if you will. Extracting data from a computer can be similar. When something is in mid-download, it's not accessible – the system is still processing."

"The human mind is like a computer?"

"Well, no. But in this case, the analogy sort of works."

"If you say so," Donna sighed.

"Look… today, Tish has some perspective on how their trauma with the Master will play upon their lives and souls in the years to come. They are here, in Mallorca, trying to heal, together. The family is united, things are moving forward. But, by contrast, it will be quite a bit of time before she has a full sense of how getting attacked by her boyfriend will affect her in the long-run. The memory is clouded by emotion, and even the emotions aren't fully formed yet."

"I guess I can see that."

"Thing is, I grilled Martha about some stuff that happened when we were travelling together, which I now realise is too long-term to be a valid indicator. But she's been acting a little weird…"

"How so?"

"Just… not herself. She's bold, like. She's… I don't know… unfettered."

"Maybe she's just growing up," Donna said. "And she thinks she's got nothing to lose, since you already know everything she'd been trying to keep from you."

"I've wondered that," he admitted. "But I had to be sure, so I looked her in the eye and confessed who I was, willing the Epidromeas to take me, instead of her…"

"Point-blank confession, and it didn't touch you?"

"Nope."

"So, she's clean."

"She was, a couple of hours ago, anyway," he said. "But now, she's out of my sight, I can't be sure."

"Just do it again," Donna suggested. "Tell _her_ -slash- _it_ who you are."

"I could, I suppose. But..."

"But what?"

"It would be weird to do that every time I see her," he sighed. "'Hi, Martha, back from the loo? Great. Let me grab hold of you, and oddly emphatically declare my name and species... for the fifth time today.'"

"I get that. But we do what we've got to, yeah?"

He paused for a few beats, then, "Thing is, what if this thing is savvier than we think? Or what if it's _growing_ savvier? If I keep doing that to her, I'm afraid it will… I don't know. Use her even longer, lie in wait longer… learn more about her, and about me. What if it decides to observe me, before attacking me directly?"

"Well, you and I have a 'safeguard trauma,' that we created."

"Yeah…" he mused, trailing off.

Donna clicked her tongue with dismay. "Though now, I don't reckon that particular 'trauma' will last very long, as indicators go. I don't really see a cold dip in a Siberian lake as being something that weighs heavily on my future. Even if I _was_ topless."

"And, you did it to yourself, so… maybe the impact is less."

"Maybe."

"But it's still a bodily… event. Total immersion, literally and figuratively. Overwhelming, stunning."

"It hurt like hell."

"It wasn't an attack or anything intended with malice, premeditation, or your own carelessness involved," he said, his voice now sounding far away.

After a long silence, Donna asked, carefully, "Doctor? Are you thinking that Martha's going to need a trauma? As a safeguard?"

"I am. You're quite clever, Donna."

"No, I'm just not an imbecile," she corrected. "But, can you do that? Could you really bring yourself to _traumatise_ Martha?"

Again, the Doctor didn't answer for a while. If Donna had been _with_ him, she'd have seen him staring off into the horizon, where the sky met the sea.

"I don't know."

"Listen, considering all she's been through, you'd have to jar her _hard,_ and potentially emotionally scar her to some extent. What on Earth could you see yourself doing to that end? You, the Doctor, the universe's biggest, and most effective do-gooder. You'd be too skittish."

"Good point, Donna."

"I meant that as a compliment."

"I know."

"You could take her Siberia and push her in the lake," she suggested, rather flippantly.

"I couldn't do that to her," he said, almost at a whisper.

"And anyway, Martha Jones might be able shake that off and take it in her stride," Donna speculated.

"She might, indeed," he agreed.

Another silence ensued, while the wheels turned. He genuinely felt that they needed a "safeguard trauma" for Martha, if not to _prevent_ the Epidromeas' infiltration, at least to _know_ when it happens. Thus, he could have some warning that the alien was getting dangerously close to _him_ , and therefore, close to having access to the TARDIS and the vortex and…

They simply could _not_ have Martha Jones walking around possessed by the Epidromeas, without their knowing it. That much was clear.

But, Donna, in her practicality, was making two excellent points: a) Martha's unbelievable mettle would prove an _obstacle_ in this endeavour. And, b) therefore, anything violent enough to traumatise her, would be something that the Doctor could never bring himself to do, or even orchestrate.

"So, we have a bit of a Catch-22," Donna sighed.

"Maybe, maybe not," he mused, realising something. "I know her quite well."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, I know her quite well."

"Oh, you know her weaknesses, you mean?" Donna asked, with a bit of disgust.

He didn't answer that question. Donna took his silence as assent. She realized he was hatching something.

"Doctor? What are you going to do? Doctor!"

"I'm thinking!" he spat. "Look, Donna, she's my friend. She understands more than we give her credit for sometimes."

"You're thinking she'll just _forgive_ you, once you've vanquished the bad guy."

"Not out of the realm of possibility."

"Okay, wait… didn't you say that Martha had gone to rent a boat?"

"Yeah."

"For the two of you?"

"Yes, of course."

"What the hell is on your mind, Spaceman?" Donna was practically shouting now. "Talk to me, Doctor!"

At that point, the Doctor spied Martha walking up the beach toward him.

"She's coming back. I've got to go."

"Doctor, _do not_ do anything that you can't take back! Certain things cannot be forgiven, you know!"

"Oi," his voice cut through her tirade. "A little trust, eh, Donna?"

And he ended the call.

* * *

 **Whoa! Hopefully you're a bit nervous now, hee hee! Please leave a review to let me know!**


	13. Chapter 13

**So, more than a few reviews, throughout this story, have expressed a desire for quality Donna/Martha time. I'm sorry I haven't delivered... but it's not really about them. Although, later chapters WILL give them A LOT more "screen time" with one another, so don't give up hope! In addition, I'm hatching a plan for a sequel, with the goal of exploring the possibilities for their friendship a whole lot more. Like you, I am dying to see where that could go!**

* * *

 **Now...**

 **How in the world will the Doctor know whether Martha Jones, like her family members, has been infiltrated - possessed, if you will - by the Epidromeas? Through a safeguard trauma, of course. He and Donna have one... but how to achieve such a thing for Martha? What the hell is he planning?**

 **Well, by the end of this chapter, I think you'll start to see. And you'll be white-knuckling it, one way or the other!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

THIRTEEN

Donna had tried to ring him back several times after he'd cut off their call, knowing he was cooking up something potentially unforgiveable.

But she had his intentions all wrong. He _could_ have explained, but that would have just made things more complicated.

But no, he couldn't explain. Not to Donna… not to anyone at the moment. He couldn't even _quite_ explain it to himself just yet. It was too complicated, still.

He just hoped that Donna trusted him enough, at least, not to put the Jones family on-alert that he was about to take Martha out into the middle of the Mediterranean and… what? Leave her there? Try to drown her?

He eventually turned off his ringer. He needed to concentrate on Martha today.

For one thing, he didn't have a safeguard in place just yet, so he needed to watch her closely, to make sure she was "herself," since he'd been away from her for about forty-five minutes. Though, over the course of the rest of the day, she called him "Doctor" numerous times, of course, and they had enough discussions of their travels through time and space (and the nature of time, etc.) that he was reasonably sure that there was not an alien within her, listening intently for evidence of a Time Lord's presence. He could be "sure" with her, in a way that he could not, with the other members of her family.

For their rental boat, she'd chosen something small and simple, and they'd kicked off the dock a little after three p.m. It was a small motor boat with two seats – driver and passenger – a sunbathing deck on the bow, and a SCUBA platform on the stern. In the middle, under a blue stretched nylon canopy, there were two padded leather cots, built into the boat's sides. Each "cot" also served as the lid of a hidden storage compartment, one refrigerated, one not. They'd brought with them a few bottles of water and exotic fruit juices, as well as some charcuteries and cheeses for dinner.

They spent most of the time lying on the cots, under the canopy, talking. For an hour or so, they just motored a couple of miles off coast, to see as much of the island as they reasonably could, in a boat this size. A few times, they anchored the boat, hopped into the water, and swam out into the sea, floated on their backs, splashed and joked. These were the Doctor's favourite moments. Something about _her,_ their very exposed bodies in the water, floating, treading, surrounded and cradled by the almost unfathomable expanse of the sea… it was exciting and enticing. The sea touched her everywhere, and him, and it gave them an immersive connection they'd never really had before. It made him want to reach out to her, complete the connection...

And for the first time since they'd met, he was truly having that most age-old of conundrums: _should I, or shouldn't I?_

He remained mostly cognizant of the fact that this little side-trip was all about laying groundwork for an event that would safeguard Martha, and himself and Donna, against the insidiousness of the Epidromeas. Which only made the question of _should I, or shouldn't I?_ more difficult to answer.

 _How should I behave? If I "reach out" now, will it lessen the impact for later? Have I already blown it, by being too… accommodating?_

And most importantly, _is it the right thing to do? Or, is it, at the very least, not the absolute worst thing I could do?_

* * *

Water, warmth, exposed skin, indulgence - this was their day. Flirtatious jokes, incidental touching of bare shoulders, arms, necks and backs... exchanges of unabashedly desirous looks, the likes of which they had not dared touch since their first meeting, at Royal Hope. Sometimes, as they lay under the canopy, the held hands for no good reason. They enjoyed their drinks together - shared them, as though it were nothing at all to drink from the same container. As the day went on, the rhythmic rocking of the boat began to feel like an inescapable innuendo.

It was unsurprising to Martha, though rather a revelation to the Doctor, that rather than _relaxing_ in one another's company, more and more throughout the day, the opposite happened. They found themselves rather wound-up, aching just a bit as the sun went down.

The sky faded to progressive shades of pink and purple, and the sun sparkled on the water like a sequined gown. They sat very close together on the deck, and had their simple dinner. Once in a while, they fed each other, and/or made excuses to touch legs. This felt like bottled electricity to both of them, causing shock-waves within their stomachs and souls, for different (yet remarkably similar) reasons.

The stars began to appear, which, of course, incited a whole new discussion of life in the universe, and their travels.

"You know, we were supposed to have this boat back to the dock by sundown," she mused, eventually. She was lying on the deck, staring at the sky, while he rested beside her, his weight on his elbows behind him.

"Okay," he said. "Then, should we…" He gestured to the driver's seat.

"I suppose," she sighed. Then she smiled at him warmly. "I don't want to."

"Neither do I," he admitted, returning the smile.

And he was telling the truth. At this moment, he felt he could just stay with her, there, forever. He felt he could protect her from the Epidromeas, just by being by her side, noticing her, interacting with her, listening to her voice, her breath, feeling her change…

Which may have been true. But the fact was, they couldn't stay "together," attached at the hip, until the end of her family's holiday, and/or until the alien decided to strike. For one thing, they would need to get cleaned up from their day of beach and sea-faring fun. Practicality would, inevitably, get in the way.

Martha sighed, and got to her feet. The two of them cleaned up their meal, and then Martha slipped, reluctantly, behind the wheel of the boat. "Ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be. Mind if I check in with Donna, while you drive us back?"

"Not at all," she said, starting the engine.

He pulled the sonic out of storage, amped up his phone to drown out the sound of the boat, so that Donna could hear him (but, he noted, Martha could not), and dialled.

"Oh, he emerges!" Donna whined, as she answered the call. "Where the hell have you been, mister?"

"On a boat. With Martha. I told you that."

"I tried phoning you!"

"I know. Seven times."

"Why didn't you answer?"

"Why do you think?"

"You know what, Spaceman? I've half a mind to…"

"Donna, listen, I don't have time for a lecture, okay? First of all… Siberian lake?"

"Knives all over the body, seizing of muscles, topless, blah blah blah."

"Okay, good. Me too. Except for the topless part. Now I need you to do something for me. The TARDIS needs a… thing."

"What do you mean, the TARDIS needs _a thing_?"

"I mean… like a maintenance thing, that I forgot to do today. Martha and I are still about an hour away, so, I'm going to need you to do it."

She sighed heavily and breathed, "Fine," drawing it out to at least three syllables. "What do I need to do?"

"Are you in the console room?"

"Yes," she responded, with exasperation.

From there, he instructed her on exactly which levers to move, and how. He even asked her to press her phone against the time rotor and/or the circuit boards a few times, so he could hear the precise hum of the vehicle. Once everything was set, he said, "Okay, ready to complete phase one."

"Phase one? There's more of this rubbish?"

"Yes. Now, throw that green joystick upwards."

They both now heard the telltale sound of the TARDIS' gears, indicating a transition from one locale to the next.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" she shouted.

He sighed. "I'm not."

"You had me set coordinates to move her?"

"Yes. If I'd told you what you were doing, you wouldn't have done it."

"Doctor…"

"Donna. Please?"

She said nothing more, but he was almost sure that he could _hear_ her annoyance in the silence. Then, after several beats, she asked, "All right. Where am I? When am I?"

"You're in the basement of the hotel," he told her. "Same time."

"Fine. Why?"

"Well, that brings us to phase 2."

"Okay, two steps to the right of the roundish Gallifreyan keyboard, there's a big blue button. Do you see it?"

"Yeah. Should I press it?"

"Not yet. Another two steps to the right, do you see a dull, worn-out chrome dial?"

"The thing that's been duct taped back together?"

"Yes."

"I see it."

"All right. So, not now, but in 45 minutes, will you please press that blue button, and then turn the dial all the way up."

"In forty-five minutes?"

"Yes. Between now and then, you're going to make sure that none of the Joneses are currently Epidromeas hosts."

"How am I going to do that?"

"With your wonderfully weird brand of social awkwardness."

"Excuse me? I'm socially awkward? The man who isn't even from this planet, and regularly tells people he's the King of Belgium, has authority to judge?"

"All right, your brand of inappropriate directness," he said. "And you can protest all you like, but today, it's an asset. The Joneses like you. Use it. Ask them about their trauma, and make sure they're clean. The Epidromeas might remember the trauma this time, but only because someone will have reminded it. So you'll have to look for that drunken, faraway look, as it contemplates. The impact of their recent trauma will not elicit a visceral reaction, and that's what we're counting on."

"But, we've all retired for the evening!"

"So? It's nine p.m., it's not like its three in the morning! Show up at their suite with some champagne and cake. Figure it out!"

"Ugh."

"Donna, please. It's all necessary, in the interest of keeping Martha safe from infiltration. And by extension, me. And by extension, you. And everyone else in the universe."

She clicked her tongue. "Fine. What do I do if one of them is possessed?"

"Call me, straight away. Make an excuse, get out of there, ring me. If they're clean, though, in forty-five minutes, excuse yourself, press the button and set the dial. Okay?"

"Okay. What does it do?"

He sighed. "It sets up the hard shell around the TARDIS, and should protect the entire wing of the hotel, where the Joneses are."

"The hard shell? The one that drains her so much, you've rejected using it?"

"Yeah. Desperate times, Donna."

"If you say so, Doctor."

"Thank you."

"That's right, _thank you._ "

* * *

The Doctor rejoined Martha, in the passenger seat of the boat. She smiled at him momentarily as she drove, and he returned it.

He listened to the motor, and the sound of the water rushing beneath the vessel. The effect became like white noise to him, and lulled him a bit…

But his thoughts did not wander. In fact, they remained firmly there, in the boat, on Martha.

The white noise only served to focus his thoughts.

He was sure that Martha needed a 'safeguard trauma,' a thing that could be hidden from the Epidromeas if she became infested with one, and therefore, tipping off the Doctor that she was not herself. He briefly, absently, thought of the bizarre little boon this had been, this little flaw in the Epidromeas' otherwise fairly insidious telepathy. Without it, he and his Companions would be flying much more blindly, would have to watch for signs that were a hell of a lot less concrete, and more difficult to suss out. Which could delay everything, and put everyone in a shedload more danger.

But, the possibility/need of a safeguard trauma had put him in a weird position. He had to work out how to shock and torment a woman who had endured more shock and torment than any human being he had ever known. He was loath to commit or choreograph _any_ act of violence or harm, let alone against someone he cared about.

And so, an alternative had wafted into his mind, as a half-formed thought. And over the past day or so, whether he'd known it or not, he'd been talking himself into it.

" _Trauma takes a while to sink in,"_ he had explained to Donna, earlier in the day _. "As quickly as one can be appalled by it, the actual impact can be unclear for weeks or months. While the mind is still chewing on it, it's too nebulous, too intangible, too blurry, to be accessible to spy equipment."_

He had been metacogitating over how and why a _recent_ trauma could be invisible to the infiltrating Epidromeas. After all, the alien could access the Master's reign last year from Tish's memory, but not being assaulted by a man in the throes of 'roid rage,' less than a week ago.

" _Today, Tish has some perspective on how their trauma with the Master will play out upon their lives and souls in the years to come. But, by contrast, it will be quite a bit of time before she has a full sense of how getting attacked by her boyfriend will affect her in the long-run. The memory is clouded by emotion, and even the emotions aren't fully formed yet," he had mused._

" _You'd have to jar her hard,"_ Donna had pointed out, referring to Martha's enormous, almost inhuman, tolerance for danger, pain, drama, and the like. _"What on Earth could you see yourself doing to that end?"_

"Doctor?" he heard, coming from his right.

He looked, and found Martha staring back at him with an amused look on her face. He must have been much more entwined with his own thoughts than he had realised.

"Oh," he said, sitting up straight, looking about. They were parked at the dock where they had begun. "We're back."

"Yeah," she sighed, turning off the engine. "And we're late. We're going to have to pay a fine."

"Totally worth it," he quipped.

* * *

Over the next forty-five minutes, they gathered up anything they'd brought onto the boat with them, returned the keys to the boat, paid a fifty-pound late fee, and walked back to the resort. They stayed along the beach as long as they could, both of them carrying a duffel over their shoulders, their shoes in one hand, and each other's hands in the other.

The Doctor noticed her grip getting tighter as they neared the hotel, probably because she was anticipating a goodbye that she did not want to say.

When they entered the hotel, he could hear, very faintly, the protective hum of the hard shell from the TARDIS. From now on, as long as Martha stayed in this part of the hotel, including her room, she couldn't be touched by the Epidromeas. This was one heck of a safeguard on its own, but as he well knew, he couldn't leave the shell running all night, or the TARDIS would deplete to dangerous levels. He had to make sure to turn it off as soon as possible. Four hours at the most. Then, TARDIS would likely not move from her current position for a month, while she recuperated.

Martha could not hear the hum. It was on a frequency so low as to be imperceptible to humans.

"Doctor, _thank you_ for an amazing day," Martha said, strongly, sincerely, standing in the doorway of her hotel room. "I can't remember when I've felt like this on holiday."

"You're welcome," he responded. "Wait, what am I saying? What are you thanking _me_ for? I should be thanking you!"

She chuckled. "Well, whatever. I feel incredible, I feel free… I feel..." In lieu of finishing the sentence, she just gifted him with a dazzling smile, and sighed a contented sigh.

"Good," he said, his stomach doing flips.

"I'm reluctant to make any plans for tomorrow, for fear of ruining this."

"Then…" he sighed, swallowing hard, holding her fingertips between his thumb and forefinger. "Let's just say good night, and leave it at that. We'll play everything else by ear."

"Sounds sensible," she said, with an oddly steadfast tone, and smile.

His stomach flipped again.

She stepped forward, kissed his cheek, then whispered, "Good night." With that, the door was closed.

* * *

The Doctor found a stairwell about forty paces from Martha's room. He descended the steps five levels, down to the basement. Inside of some sort of sporting equipment storage cage, there was the TARDIS. She had gone dark.

He sonicked his way through the gate, and stepped through the door of his trusted vessel. He walked up the ramp and inspected the console. The time rotor was still glowing low, and the internal points of light were alive, but other than that, the console room was completely dark. The hard shell forcefield was running at full-blast, though, protecting this entire wing of the hotel, with the Jones family inside.

On the computer screen, there was a note from Donna. _"The Joneses are clean. They think I'm a nutter now, though -hope you're satisfied. I'm assuming the TARDIS powered down to conserve energy. Can't even get the TV to work. So, I checked into the hotel. I'm in room 206, which means I'll be protected by the shell, yes? You can reimburse me later. Don't do anything boorish. See you tomorrow. Donna."_

He was content, assured that Donna was happy and safe for the night. He took the sonic out of his pocket, and used it to light his way down the corridor toward his bedroom, and adjacent bathroom, where he lit a few candles. Then he shed his salt- and sand-covered clothing, and stepped under a stream of hot, cleansing, candle-lit water.

Once again, the white noise was lulling. His thoughts drifted upstairs to a woman on the fourth floor, alone in her room, probably also showering the beach and sea off of her body.

And in spite of the heat, he shivered. And that was good.

Was he convincing himself of his plan? If so, why?

For one thing, there was a possibility that it wouldn't work, so why would he take such a chance?

Then again, even if it didn't work, what would he have really lost? What would Martha have really lost? Well, that was the question, wasn't it? _That_ was at the crux of the conundrum he now faced.

What did _Martha_ have to lose, as a result of this plan?

His thoughts wandered again back to his own words.

 _Trauma takes a while to sink in… the actual impact can be unclear for weeks or months. It is clouded by emotion, and even the emotions aren't fully formed…_

And these qualities are what make "trauma" difficult to access by the Epidromeas. The unformed-ness of it, the nebulousness of it, in the first days following.

But it didn't have to be an act of violence.

 _It's a bodily… event. Total immersion, literally and figuratively. Overwhelming, stunning._

And Donna's words, said with disgust: _"You know her weaknesses. You're thinking she'll just forgive you, once you've vanquished the bad guy. Doctor, do not do anything that you can't take back! Certain things cannot be forgiven, you know!"_

In the end, what would Martha have to forgive him for?

Well, he realised… nothing. And this thought was both freeing and terrifying.

What did Martha have to lose?

Also nothing. He would not _let_ her lose.

And in that moment he knew: this was the right call.

He turned off the water and dried off in the dim light. He mussed his hair, put on a pair of brown pin-striped trousers with a burgundy tee-shirt, and carried his trainers, with socks stuffed inside, in one hand… just in case.

He locked the TARDIS door behind him, and headed back up to the fourth floor.

* * *

 **OMG! I know, right?**

 **But don't be so on-edge that you forget to review! ;-)**


	14. Chapter 14

**Well, after their amazing day of sun-kissed, sea-faring fun, the Doctor has made a decision. Martha still needs a trauma (or more accurately, a "bodily event" that might be hard, for a while, to fully process), because let's face it, that Epidromeas isn't going to vanquish itself. Oh, dear me! What DOES he have in store for her?**

* * *

FOURTEEN

After the door of her hotel room was shut, Martha stood, clutching the handle for another half minute, just… thinking.

And smiling. Like an idiot.

She tried to shake it off, turn away from the door, and go about her nightly ablutions. But she just kept smiling. She tried to repress it, but her cheek and jowl muscles just _wanted_ to contract.

She forced down a giggle, and whispers of his name. What she really wanted was to go upstairs, knock on her sister's door, and blather all about the day… how _easy_ it had felt, and how bloody _magical_ it had been, just to be with him, under this sky, on this sea, in paradise.

She laughed aloud at herself as adolescent thoughts buzzed about in her brain, and she stepped into the shower to rinse the sand, sunscreen, and salt off her body.

Her mind was racing. It was fun, and she just let it replay different moments of the day; little gazes, winks, jokes, occasional innuendoes, touches… these were small triumphs, in Martha's eyes. She had spent the day in the throes of something she had never experienced before: unadulterated _Doctor._ No running, no screaming, no , water, skin, and calm, a combination of circumstances that, for a normal man, spending the day with a normal woman, would mean _something_.

But, she reminded herself, for the Doctor it meant nothing… _honestly, nothing_. Other than friendship, and a good, life-affirming flirt. But, those things had always been part of their relationship.

She had steeled herself for the onslaught of adrenaline and attraction, the constant checking of her emotions and mannerisms… though it hadn't been as difficult as it had been during their year in the TARDIS together. Though, early in the day, she decided not to bother "checking" anything, and had found that it worked for her. At first, she thought it was only because she had been mentally prepared for the idea that this day would lead nowhere. But it soon became clear that the dynamic between them had changed for the better. Her honesty about her feelings towards him, both love and frustration, had been freeing, and had put her on more even footing. And the Doctor, he seemed fine with all of it.

Still, he obviously had a profound effect on her, such that in becoming immersed in her thoughts, she turned down the temperature of her shower, and had to force herself to actually focus on washing her hair. Matured she may have done, but she was still ridiculously smitten with him, had spent the day absolutely basking in his attentions, and she couldn't just proceed with _business as usual_.

She decided that a younger Martha would be kicking herself just now, for the fact that she was so bloody _hung up_ on this man who never returned her affections in quite the way she would like. She would be mentally deconstructing every beautiful moment of the day, trying to protect her heart by convincing herself that the flirtation was all in her lovesick head.

But today's Martha decided just to try and enjoy the pervasive rush of heat the whole episode had given her.

She'd got to hold his hand, even though he wasn't trying to pull her through an exploding tunnel, or away from some sort of carnivorous beast. She had seen him with his shirt off, and she had liked it. She'd seen him dripping wet and breathless, and had liked that even better. And no-one could ever take that away, even if he and Donna disappeared off the face of the planet tomorrow, never to return.

And, who cared what the _motivation_ was? The fact that his eyes had sailed indulgently over her bare skin at every opportunity, was good enough for her. And the fact that he didn't particularly try to hide it, was chuffing amazing.

In fact, now she thought about it, even with all the beautiful, bronzed bodies on the beach, she hadn't seen him look at anyone else… even the blondes. This was curious, indeed.

She giggled at this word, _curious._

She recognised the fact that she might be having a selective-memory situation, but she decided it wasn't important. These images and feelings might be a stairway to the void, but blimey, were they sweet.

She dried off, and decided just to don the red satin robe, hanging on the back of the bathroom door, provided by the hotel. She piled her wet hair messily on top of her head and fastened it with a stretchy band. She peeled back the covers on the bed, but didn't feel like crawling beneath them, just yet. So, she switched the TV on, and lay down on top of the folded blankets, flipping from one channel to the next, looking for something in English.

She found CNN and BBC News, but current events were always depressing, and she was in too good a mood for that. This day had been perfect, she was at an equilibrium she hadn't felt in quite some time, so, perhaps a film in Spanish would do just fine, even if she didn't fully understand the words…

And then, there was a knock at her hotel room door.

She jumped a bit at the sound. She'd thought she was alone for the night.

Her initial shock wore off pretty quickly, and she reckoned it was probably Tish, come to get the details. She'd known, of course, that Martha and the Doctor would be out sunning themselves together today. She relished in the opportunity to regale her sister with today's adventure, and the emotional fallout from it.

She got to her feet quickly and gracefully enough, adjusted her robe, and crossed to the door. When she pulled it open, though, her breath hitched.

* * *

 _A necessary evil_ the Doctor told himself, as he approached her door. _Though, not an evil, exactly. A necessary measure. A calculated risk?_

 _Just an excuse?_

Between the basement where the TARDIS was parked, and Martha's room, he'd gone over the scenario, the possibilities, at least fifty times in his mind. There were a few different ways this could go… all of them would change his relationship with Martha Jones forever. Irrevocably.

 _Well, it's either this, or I do bodily harm._

 _But doesn't this constitute bodily harm?_

 _A physical and psychological immersion in an event that will be hard to forget? Yes._

 _Trauma? Perhaps. In its way._

 _Bodily harm? No._

And, the question that had plagued him all day arose in his head, once again, and he indulged it one last time: Was this, all things considered, fair? What did Martha stand to lose?

"Nothing," he told himself aloud, once again, standing outside her hotel room door. "I won't let her lose."

And then he willed his qualms away, and knocked on the door.

After ten seconds or so, Martha opened it. He distinctly heard her give a tiny gasp, and then momentarily hold her breath.

Then he gave a barely-audible gasp as well, because he looked her over. And, there she stood, in a red satin robe, with the hotel's insignia on the lapel. Somehow, this was even more tantalising than a bathing suit that actually revealed much more of her… the shiny, smooth crimson fabric, it struck him like gift-wrap.

After a moment of the two of them standing there, staring at each other, one of them stunned, the other with a newfound avidity in his eyes, she asked, rather breathlessly, "What are you doing here?"

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out, initially. His features registered nervousness, as though he were stricken and scared, and also, searching for something to say.

And he was all of those things. Because, the bulk of his thoughts on the way to this moment had been about the 'safeguard trauma,' doing the right thing, and the need/lack of need for damage control, after all was said and done. He had not been thinking about what he might say, here and now.

But seeing her like this, in a garment that seemed to him like cherry syrup being poured over her curvy body, in a cascade of sugar and decadence…

…the concept of 'safeguard trauma' had fled from his mind. All that was left was… well, everything else that came with this sight, these feelings, this desire.

Though, he felt more than a little awkward standing there with his shoes and socks in his hand, and without the usual full suit to shield him from debris. But he forced himself to swallow it.

After the delay, he finally answered her question, soft and low. "I know we decided to say good night, and leave it at that, but… I just don't think we're done for the night."

"You don't?"

"No. Do _you_ want to be done?"

"No," she answered, almost at a whisper. "Not even a little bit."

She moved out of the way, a bit dazed, leaving room for him to enter the room. He stepped past her, and she shut the door behind him.

 _Damn it, why didn't I think this through? What am I supposed to say?_ he wondered.

Hearing the lock click into place, seemed to give him a push toward finality, and he made the decision to say nothing. She _had_ to know very well why he was here, and there was no turning back. From this moment forward, he'd let the chips fall where they may. He stood on a precipice, waiting to jump, as life would never be the same again. It was terrifying.

Yet, adrenaline and desire were pumping through him, and the next couple of hours held an aura of heat, promise and discovery.

As if to strengthen his resolve, he tossed his shoes onto the floor beside the night stand, with a satisfying _thud._ He advanced the five feet between himself and Martha, and took her suddenly by the neck and cheeks, and kissed her. Hard, full on the lips, answered by another low, tight gasp, then a groan, from her.

Of course, this wasn't their first kiss – they'd had a quick snog when they'd first met in the hospital, two years ago. A "genetic transfer."

Back then, Martha had been so shocked, she hadn't had the wherewithal to react, other than to stand there with her arms at her sides, and be kissed.

This time, bells rang in her brain, as two years' worth of angst and fantasy began to gel. Her hands now impulsively searched him out, pressed against his chest, and clawed, just a bit, at the fabric of his t-shirt.

And back then, the kiss had been a painfully brief, three-second slice of life, after which, the Doctor disappeared around the corner, possibly never to be seen again.

This time, three seconds came, went, was left in the dust. The kiss deepened. Tongues now danced against one another, and Martha slipped her hands up to his shoulders, and then curved her arms around his neck. His hands made their way down to her waist. He pressed his palm into the small of her back, pulling her close, and feeling just a hint of the curve of her bottom beneath the red satin, with the tips of his fingers.

This sensation was a bit intoxicating. It spurred him on to press against her a bit more, a bit harder, and to moan involuntarily against her mouth.

This, in turn, spurred her on. She grabbed a bit harder at his t-shirt, took handfuls of it, and took a step back. In that direction, there happened to be a turned-down bed. He stumbled forward along with her, causing them to break from one another.

They stood, staring at each other breathlessly for a few moments.

Then, the wind in the room seemed to calm, and he martialled both breath and desire. He gently took hold of the ends of the thin sash around her waist, the only thing keeping the cherry-syrup robe closed, and fondled it with the tips of his fingers. He shifted his eyes up to meet hers, and he found her searching him intently, wondering if he was going to tug at it hard enough to lay it open. He smiled at her wickedly, and for her part, she thought her knees might buckle, from just the impact of that naughty tilt of his eyebrow and mouth.

Unhurriedly, deliberately teasingly, he enlaced the sash between his index and middle fingers, and secured it with his thumb. They both momentarily studied his hand, then returned to one another's gaze. He pulled. Slowly. The sash came loose little by little. When the loop finally came through, and the Doctor let go of the sash, it fell toward the floor, and just hung there. The lapels of the satin robe also now hung straight, parallel, vertical, over the front of her body, with just the slightest bit of overlap that didn't allow her skin to be seen.

She now reached forward and took gentle hold of the hem of his t-shirt, and pulled it up toward his chin. He took the hint, and pulled it all the way up over his head and off, tossing it into the corner with his shoes. He then ran his hand all the way down her satin-covered arm, from shoulder to fingertips. She shivered, as he pulled her by the hand toward the bed.

He sat down upon the mattress, and positioned her, standing in front of him. His hands snaked inside her robe, the _only_ piece of clothing she was wearing, and he grasped her by the hips. He pressed his nose and lips against the soft, smooth, aromatic skin of her abdomen, first moving gently, savouring the texture, and then planting barely-there kisses around her navel. Again, she sucked in a quick strip of air, and braced her hands on his shoulders against the impact. She gave a little moan, as she exhaled.

His hands then explored her bottom and thighs, roving lithely across her skin, indulging in a particular pleasure he'd been seeking all day, at the beach and on the boat: the feel of her, the texture and give of this shapely and efficient body, and velveteen flesh.

His touch grew bolder and bolder, and his hands returned, more or less, to her hips, where they had begun this journey. Only now, his right hand crept further toward her centre. When his thumb reached the apex between her legs, he pressed it between her folds, and found her pleasantly slick and swollen. She gave another moan as his thumb slid over her clit. She nearly swooned, and her fingernails dug into his shoulders, hard enough to hurt. Although, to him, the sensation was thrilling.

After a few seconds of being stroked, she lost her resolve to stand, and she practically fell forward, kneeling on the bed, with her knees on either side of his right leg. She sat on his knee, and he replaced his thumb with two long fingers, and they grew insistent, beginning to bring her body forward toward some explosive potential…

For a minute or two, he just rubbed steadily, and watched her face alternating between the pain of anticipation, and ecstasy. He listened to her breathing grow heavy, and the little spurts of whispered expletives that came out of her mouth while she unravelled. Her hips began to gyrate subtly, looking for stimulation, relief, release…

When the moment arrived, it arrived fiercely. Suddenly, Martha let one short, high cry escape through her lips, and she gripped his shoulders with all of the energy bubbling inside of her. She threw her head back, and came, shuddering. It was as though her body were vibrating.

In recovery, she allowed his fingers to slip from her, and threw herself down onto the bed, on her back, as though another moment spent holding herself in any way upright would be far too much. This motion finally laid her robe open. He gazed unabashedly over every inch of her. It was a bolder, fuller, surer version of what he'd been doing all day.

And then, he met her eyes. They were daring him to do more.

* * *

 **Will he do more, do you think? Let me know when you review! ;-)**


	15. Chapter 15

**Okay, well, here we go. NSFW, my friends, right from the first line. Proceed with caution, tee hee! x-D**

* * *

FIFTEEN

Martha had collapsed onto the bed, apparently no longer able to remain upright after the juddering ordeal of an orgasm he'd given her.

Her robe lay open, her body lay carelessly exposed. She panted, and her eyes searched his; _what are you going to do now?_ they asked him.

He slid off the bed, onto his knees, and arranged himself between her legs. He pulled her bum to the edge of the mattress, then draped her knees over his shoulders.

"Oh, my God," she moaned, in disbelief, and in anticipation of what she knew would happen next.

He gave a sardonic chuckle, then bent his head forward, and began to lick.

Her body arched immediately, and she squeezed and clawed at handfuls of sheet and blanket. She was sensitive, her body still sparking from the previous explosion. The affect was so intense, she opened her mouth to moan, or scream, or spit some sort of expletive, but no sound came forth. Only breath, and disbelief.

As sensation grew, overtook her, muddled her self-control, she couldn't help but twist back and forth a bit. He tried to hold her steady as she writhed, knowing full well that with each contact his tongue made with her clit, her whole body would wind sideways again, and he would have to grip tighter…

…but of course, it didn't stop him. In fact, he found her reactions absolutely delicious. So, he serviced her dutifully, beautifully, expertly until her hips found a good, deep rhythm and sank to the bed. Her moans grew lower, more visceral, and her hands went desperately to his head, burying themselves in, and clawing at, his damp hair. It was obvious that she was quite close to another climax, and so, he flattened his tongue firmly against her clit, and moved it up and down, ever so subtly… this made her pull at his hair hard enough to hurt, and give a series of tight, high, breathless screams.

And this continued over the next twenty-or-so seconds, until he felt her hand flatten on the back of his head, and force his mouth down against her. She groaned as though she had been punched in the stomach, her thighs tightened around his ears, and he felt her body jerk, and gush. Her climax made him, in turn, moan, and wish he could just bury himself inside her, right now, and never, ever stop driving forward…

But as it was, he had a lot more work to do, about which he could hardly complain, and contented himself with lapping at the slippery fluids she had shed. His tongue now moved in and out of her opening just below, tasting her palpable pleasure. She panted, and twitched a bit as he licked brand-new parts of her, and he absolutely relished the moment.

Eventually, he felt her breathing slow a bit, and wondered if she might be ripe for another go, just yet. And he found out, in short order, that she was.

* * *

Up and down, and over again, four times, almost without reprieve, laying at his mercy (or mind-blowing lack thereof), her vision became inundated with imaginary red clouds of hunger and pleasure and earthquakes, and they would occasionally burst, as she did, and make rain.

Her hearing was overcome with the sounds of her own moans, high cries, and increasingly filthy commentary. She could smell lust and sweat, and taste the dry, bitter pillow, as she had reached for it impulsively, then bitten down on it as she came for the fifth time that evening. She was moaning, her eyes were watering, her body was shaking from the repeated upheaval, and exhaustion.

Overwhelmed, stunned, shaken, spent... she'd never felt so bloody fantastic in all her life.

He pulled his mouth away from her at last. He licked his lips heartily, and stood up, holding out his hand to her.

Before she took it, she looked him over. His face was flushed, his stomach muscles were pulsing back and forth with his fast, hard breathing, and his trousers were horribly strained.

She allowed him to help her up, and she stood, meeting his eye, admiring the dark need therein - he was looking at her the way a vampire looks at his victim. She didn't think such a thing would be possible, after the way she had spent the last forty-five minutes of her life, but this expression inflamed her further.

She reached forward and grasped at the bulge behind the zip of his pinstriped trousers, and he moaned in response. His eyes slid shut, and he bit his bottom lip.

When his eyes opened again, he growled at her, before he could stop himself, "Do you want it?"

"Oh, I do," she replied, just above a whisper, and she shrugged off the red satin robe that she was _still_ wearing, and let it fall in a heap to the carpet.

"Even now?"

" _Especially_ now."

She reached forward again, this time to grab at the hook that fastened his waistband. She unclasped it, then desperately went for the zip. He bent to push his trousers and pants down over his legs, and off. Meanwhile, she backed up, and arranged herself on the bed, her upper body resting against her elbows behind her, her feet toward the footboard.

For a short moment, he just gazed at her, marvelling at her beauty and her unrestrained _desire_. Her ability to absorb pleasure, remain so exceedingly stimulated for so long, to take it in gulps, to writhe and scream and _come_ over and over again, and then, so soon, be ready to offer herself to him…

This insatiability was a bit dazzling, and a bit unexpected. In his mind, her body sparked like a live wire as he studied it hungrily.

He couldn't help himself. He said, "You're bloody amazing."

"I haven't done anything," she replied, with a bit of a choked laugh.

"Oh, yes you have."

He moved forward and crawled over her, planting his knees between hers, as she lay back on the pillow. His hands dug into the soft down on either side of her head.

"I've been thinking about this moment all day."

Again, she laughed rather restrainedly. "Well, you might have informed me! I spent most of the day _trying not_ to think about this moment."

"I'm sorry," he said, lowering himself onto her, and burying his mouth in her neck. He kissed, then bit at the skin just below her ear.

"It's all right," she whispered, as she spread her legs wider for him. "Just make it worth the effort."

When he had imagined their tryst over the course of the day, he had imagined making love to her with consideration, respect, yet with enough voracity and passion to make a deep impression upon her body and soul. It was to be a calculated, however pleasant, pursuit.

But he hadn't counted on feeling _this_ way. Now that he was here, after having painstakingly delayed satisfaction to himself, in favour of feeling her writhe and twitch and shudder… well, he had no patience left for lovemaking. If a train had broken through the wall and come barrelling at them, he could not now have held back from sinking in, and fucking her hard.

So that's what he did.

He knew it wasn't going to be a _long_ shag, but it was going to be a bloody good one.

It began with two hard thrusts, straight to her core, just to watch her eyes glaze over, and hear the expletive that came out in the form of a groan. It was fantastic - primal and incendiary.

Then, he did it again, for good measure.

But sooner than later, he couldn't stand it. He growled, gathered up the pillow, and her head, in his arms, and just let go of everything – qualms, scruples, conscious thought...

He drove in with abandon, again and again, touching her deeper each time he shoved his cock into her. He grunted and cursed, shut his eyes tight, against the extreme, volatile sensations…

…though, eventually, he opened his eyes, and noticed her doing the same.

"Am I hurting you?" he asked, breathlessly, never pausing, desperately hoping she wouldn't ask him to.

"Yes," she panted.

"Should I stop?"

"Don't you dare!" she demanded. And then, miraculously, she gripped his arms, digging her fingernails in, and he felt her muscles contracting and releasing on the inside, and knew she was coming, yet again. She cursed, then went limp.

That was it… just too much for him. He gave her his last, totally out-of-control thrusts, fucked her with the last bit of breath and momentum he had, twice knocking her head against the headboard, and exploded inside her. As he did, he gave a wild, ragged groan of taut, teeming release.

She cried out with the delicious, searing pain of his final, forceful thrust, and with the sensation of his cock throbbing within her, filling her with jets of fluid, denoting his pleasure, his wanting, and his conquest of her.

And hers of him.

* * *

She ached. And she felt entrenched in the residue of desire, so _aware_ of her own body.

In fact, she'd been feeling this way, figuratively, for over two years. But, never had it been quite so literal.

She tingled everywhere with the imprint of _six_ devastating orgasms. Everything felt sensitive, as one might feel after touching fire. She had a slightly tender spot on the top of her head from when it had been shoved (accidentally, though forcefully) into the headboard. Her abs ached from contracting for long periods of time, over and over again while he gave her insistent pleasure and release. Well-used parts of her were sore from friction, and practically her whole body was soaked with sweat. Something slippery was leaking out of her, onto the sheets, but she was too listless at the moment, like a ragdoll, to care, or do anything about it.

This was one of the uglier sides of the human condition, to be sure – or at least one of the most bittersweet. She was _exhausted –_ totally spent from the crisis of crashing into another person and burning their desires down to embers. Yet, she had never felt quite so vindicated, so high, and all-around satisfied.

And she fell, intoxicated, into sleep.

* * *

The Doctor watched her become enveloped by a deep slumber, without having said a post-coital word to him. She had checked out of consciousness, without the usual, self-effacing contemplation that he knew was part and parcel of her relationship with him.

This was good. This was very good… for a couple of reasons, actually.

For his part, the Doctor would have liked nothing more than to fall along with her, wrap his arms around her, become enveloped, stay with her all night, wake with her in the morning…

But that wasn't the plan.

He had to remind himself, that he was there for a reason, other than to verily finish what he started with her, when they had their first little rendezvous in an alley behind a pub on Leo's twenty-first birthday.

He had come here to create _a bodily event,_ with _total immersion, literally and figuratively._ It had to be _overwhelming, stunning._

Well, now, that had been a lot of pressure. To knock on a woman's door in order to seduce her, and tell oneself, _this has to be stunning_ … literally. He'd nearly swallowed his tongue as he'd raised his hand to the knocker.

But now that he looked back over the last hour or so, and given the cacophony of lust and emotion that had been clouding his thinking, and driving his actions, well, he reckoned he'd accomplished his mission tonight. The way her body had reacted to his touch, time after time, the way she welcomed the successions of small explosions within her, it was gorgeous and revealing. It seemed he'd done enough to traumatise the physical being, in a manner of speaking. And knowing her as he did, the incident would be certain to incite some serious questions about emotional impact, and where the soul goes from here. He reckoned that left to her own devices, Martha's psyche might be busy "uploading" this episode for quite a while, making it unavailable to interlopers.

Not that he planned on letting her stew in it for too terribly long. Only as long as it took for the Epidromeas to infiltrate her, or at least make itself known in some way, so that the Doctor could well and truly vanquish the thing. He hoped this would be over the course of the next day or two.

He'd planned on waiting at least an hour after Martha had dropped off to sleep, but he reckoned, watching how swiftly and heavily she'd descended into unconsciousness told him that he didn't need the full hour. Not to mention the fact that it would be much better for the TARDIS if he could turn off the hard shell now, rather than later.

So, after fifteen minutes, he stood up with relative confidence that she would not stir. He was correct. He stepped into his pants and trousers, and climbed into his burgundy tee-shirt. He wanted to kiss her on the forehead and whisper in her ear, but dared not press his luck.

He stepped out of the room, into the hall, and descended the steps to the basement of the building. He found the TARDIS, let himself into the nearly pitch-black interior space, then switched off the hard shell. He decided to wait until the lights came back up, before trying to fumble his way down the hall toward his bedroom.

He talked softly to the vessel as, slowly, her strength got restored well enough to light his path, however dimly. He thanked her, and promised her plenty of time to recuperate. When he arrived in his bedroom, only the lamp beside the bed was on, which was enough that he would not stumble into anything, but the room was huge, so it was still quite dark.

Before heading up to Martha's room, he had tossed his mobile phone onto the bed, not wishing it to go off while he was with her.

Now, he picked it up, and sent a quick text message to the woman on the fourth floor, sleeping that exhausted, totally spent, sated sleep.

He wanted there to be no objective hints about what had transpired between them tonight, for practicality's sake. He needed to be as neutral as possible, but also, as natural as possible.

The text read, "Good morning, to one of my favourite people in the universe. Breakfast at 8:30, at El Brillo, on the north side of the resort?"

Then he shut the phone, tossed it on the night stand, peeled off everything but his underpants and crawled into bed. He hadn't realised until just now how harrowing this day and night had been for him, too.

Sleep hit him like a ton of bricks.

* * *

 **Thoughts? Feelings? Epiphanies? Rants? ;-) Lay them on me! In review form, of course.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Well, the Doctor and Martha had a pretty crazy night together... and now it's the next day. He's sent her a fairly benign text, inviting her to breakfast. And now he's on a mission to find out exactly what (or who!) is in her mind!**

* * *

SIXTEEN

It was in the Doctor's nature to wake, pretty much like clockwork, five hours after going to sleep at night. He didn't necessarily sleep _every_ night, but when he did, five hours was the norm. Something about it seemed _right_ to the inner workings of this Time Lord.

Although, this morning, he sat up in bed, and stayed somewhat enmeshed in sleep somehow. Grogginess refused to let him see straight for the next few minutes, no matter how many times he rubbed his eyes and/or slapped his own cheek.

Eventually, though, he yawned, tried to shake it off (without much success), and forced himself to turn sideways, put his feet on the floor, and stand up. He stretched, first upwards, then he bent toward his toes. As he did so, he spied his mobile phone on the night table. He made a mental note that he had to check for a response from Martha, regarding breakfast at El Brillo at 8:30. He didn't reckon there was any way she'd have awakened during the night, and it was currently just after five a.m. He would probably have to wait at least a couple more hours before she would emerge from her coma, to receive and answer the text.

Well, one way or another, he'd be at El Brillo at the appointed time. For one thing, he wasn't a cad. For another, he _wanted_ to go.

But most importantly, in order for the plan to work, he'd have to _talk_ with her quite a bit today.

He then padded over to the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face. He found this bracing, if not pleasant (which was kind of the goal), and the shock of cold water reminded him of Donna. He should probably touch base with her, in an hour or so, as well.

* * *

Just before seven a.m., Donna Noble woke naturally, and found, to her delight, that she was lying peacefully in a plush hotel bed, literally neck-deep in luxury. She smiled, sighed happily, and tried to return to sleep, but found that she was unable.

She hated that. She had all the time in the world (almost literally, since she travelled with the Doctor) and yet, her brain or body, or whatever, wouldn't let her go back to sleep.

"Come on, just this once?" she groaned aloud, to no-one in particular. Although, within a minute of that little outburst, she was sitting up in bed, more or less wide awake.

She spied a little light across the room, flickering on and off at half-second intervals. It was her mobile phone, sitting on the desk, alerting her that she had a text message.

She crossed the room and picked it up. It was from the Doctor.

"Hope you don't mind if I just see you later in the day, not sure when. Last night was pretty intense. Got to spend time with Martha today."

"Oh, you complete…" she said, before biting her lip.

She answered the text with two angry thumbs. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?"

She knew that she would never get an answer to the text. In time, though, she predicted that the _question_ would be answered, for better or for worse.

She sighed and switched on the TV. With nowhere to be (yet) today, she decided just to order breakfast from room service.

* * *

At 8:15, the Doctor had still not received an answer from Martha, but left the TARDIS for breakfast at El Brillo, anyway. Though, he _had_ , of course, noticed Donna's interrogative text regarding the night before. He felt he could practically _hear_ her voice, shrieking the question impertinently. Not that he answered it, of course.

El Brillo was located on the north side of the resort, opposite to where the Jones family were staying, and where the TARDIS was parked.

After the sunny ten-minute walk, he arrived at a trendy restaurant, clearly specialising in breakfast fare, given the stylised suns and roosters, defining the décor. He asked for a table for two, was led out to the patio, and was shown a table for four. He looked about, noticing that all of the smaller tables were taken.

"Thanks," he said.

The host (wearing a polo shirt with a sun and a rooster) laid two menus on the table and walked away. Interestingly, the restaurant served both continental breakfasts (bread, butter, jam, fruit) for the Spanish, Portuguese, French and Italian crowd, and English breakfasts (eggs, pork, potatoes) for the Brits, Americans, Canadians and Australians. Absently, the Doctor wondered on which side would err the Asians, Africans and South Americans who visited the resort.

He perused the menu, decided upon what he wanted, then, just sat and looked about. He noted that the restaurant's patio had none of the usual stone or wrought-iron guardrails, but sat just alongside a walkway, separated only by a line of inlaid white stone, and in some places, 12-inch-high bushes. The Doctor's table was quite close to the walkway, in fact, and he nodded good morning to several people as they passed.

He sat for about five minutes, sipping some very strong coffee, before he heard his name being uttered. But not by the person he expected.

"Doctor?"

His stomach went _thud_ , because he recognised the voice.

He turned toward it, and, no matter how disconcerting this was, smiled. "Francine, hi."

She and Clive were strolling down the walkway and had seen him from the back. They stopped beside his table.

"Nice to see you," she said, in her usual cordial manner.

"And you," he responded, affably.

Clive said, "We were just thinking of coming to El Brillo for breakfast, since they serve it English-style. Feeling a bit homesick, food-wise. Mind if we join you?"

"Of course not," the Doctor said, motioning to the two empty chairs across from him.

"Clive! Don't be rude!" Francine chided.

"No, no, don't be silly," the Doctor said, easily, pleasantly, seamlessly. "All we need is a couple more menus."

Reluctantly, Francine allowed Clive to guide her across the row of white inlaid stone that served as a border between the walkway and restaurant's patio, and pull out her chair for her. She sat down with an uneasy smile.

The Doctor chuckled inwardly at this clear display of discomfort. This woman had _never_ particularly liked him. In fact, she'd disliked and mistrusted him, almost on-sight back at Lazarus' black-tie affair, when Martha had introduced them. He understood why, of course, given that Francine knew about his dangerous lifestyle, and had been none-too-subtle about her suspicions.

That night, he had asked Martha what had happened to her after Leo's party.

"I just went home," Martha had said.

"On your own?" Francine asked her, blatantly sliding her eyes sideways toward the Doctor.

The two of them hadn't helped matters when they couldn't come up with any good answers for how they'd been spending their time.

"Busy?" Francine had said, sceptically. "Doing what?"

"Oh, you know… stuff," he had answered, regretting it immediately.

Martha had stayed cleverly silent throughout that particular exchange.

 _She could have warned me not to engage,_ he thought, with another inward chuckle.

These days, after the year they had spent together under the thumb of the Master, in spite of what Martha thought, the Doctor was fairly sure that Francine did, at least, _trust_ him now. Even so, she still didn't _like_ him very much. That was her prerogative – can't like everyone.

Although, now, in these few moments, studying her, he realised that though she might trust him now with their lives, trust that he is not "dangerous," in the strictest sense of the word (at least, he's not a danger to them), and trust that he can and will assist planet Earth in any way he can…

…perhaps she still didn't trust him with Martha's heart, and her seemingly undying devotion. That consideration was very real. He had pointed this out to Martha just a couple of mornings prior, when Martha was lamenting the fact that Francine hadn't joined the Doctor's fan club yet.

"She's your mum. She wants more than anything to keep you safe." And he had added, "I'm not the safest guy to pal around with."

That same morning, Francine had turned up at Martha's hotel room door to invite her to the spa, but Martha announced that she already had breakfast plans. Knowing that the Doctor was back in their lives, Francine had glanced indelicately over at the bed, which confirmed that she still thought… what she thought.

Weirdly, that morning, Francine had invited herself to breakfast with them. Today, she was embarrassed about Clive doing the same thing. It was tempting to wonder what had changed, but most likely, nothing had. It was just a question of Francine speaking on spur-of-the-moment to her daughter, versus her husband behaving cheekily… the latter would be much harder to take, for someone like Francine Jones.

He realised that he and Martha had had to literally _leave the island_ in order to have a proper meal with one another, with no interference. Although, in the future, he reckoned they might have to leave the planet, so… small victories should be acknowledged.

The irony of it all was, that until about ten hours ago, none of what Francine suspected about the Doctor's physical interactions with her daughter was true.

In fact, she was currently sitting at the breakfast table intended as the _very first_ "morning after" rendezvous for him and Martha. He wondered if it would make her feel better or worse to know this.

Clive took a seat beside her, and the Doctor flagged a server to ask for two more menus.

Clive pointed at the empty chair. "So, expecting Donna?"

Answering for the Doctor, Francine scolded, "Really Clive?" and gestured subtly to something behind the Doctor.

He turned to look. It was Martha, being led through the restaurant by the same host who had seated him. The host walked away without a word.

"Hi," Martha said, a bit flatly. Looking directly at her mum and dad, she remarked, "This is a surprise."

"Yeah," Clive said. "We happened upon the Doctor as we were passing by, and we asked if we could join…"

"We?" Francine asked.

"If you want us to leave, Martha…" he said.

"No," Martha said, waving the comment away. She smiled wearily. "Please, it's fine!"

She pulled out her own chair, but the Doctor got to his feet quickly enough to help her push it in. She thanked him, again, rather flatly.

A waiter appeared, and the Joneses each ordered coffee/tea/Mimosa as desired. Martha and Clive ordered breakfast English-style, while Francine and the Doctor took the continental approach.

Then, after a brief pause, Francine asked, "So, what did the two of you get up to yesterday?"

"We had a really nice day," she answered, sitting back in her chair, crossing one knee over the other. "We spent some time on the beach and then rented a boat."

To the Doctor, it seemed odd that she didn't immediately bristle at the question. Though, what was she supposed to do? Ask her mother loudly, point-blank, what business it is of hers?

Then she looked at the Doctor, smiled subtly, and seemed to ask for help.

The smile spoke volumes, though he wasn't sure what exactly it was saying. Because, it wasn't just that she wasn't resisting the question, or panicking about it, she actually seemed rather lethargic. This had been the case from the moment she'd arrived and said _hi._

The Doctor spoke, though, so he wouldn't get caught studying her too hard. "Oh, erm, we took the boat about a mile out, and just motored for a bit, see as much of the island as possible. Eventually we anchored, did some swimming, had dinner on the deck, returned it late, had to pay a fine."

Francine actually smiled then, too. "It does sound like a really nice day."

"Sweetheart, you seem a little… subdued," Clive pointed out to Martha.

"Oh. Sorry," she said.

"No need to apologise, it's just… are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she answered. "Just knackered. Hot sun, swimming… got in late."

"You're uncomfortable because we're here, aren't you?" Francine asked, smacking Clive's arm.

"No, mum, it's all right," she said. "I'm glad you're here. It's supposed to be a family holiday, after all."

They continued with the chatter, with Martha seeming distant and, as her father had said, subdued. It was obvious to her parents that she wasn't thrilled about them being there, but it was too late for them to get up and leave, so they made the best of it.

To the Doctor, _nothing_ was obvious. He figured she might have been, as he was, expecting (or at least hoping for) a sort of "afterglow" breakfast, soaked in deliciously repressed sexual vibes, stares across the table that left no doubt as to how they had spent the previous night. She absolutely did have the air of someone who wanted _that,_ but had got _this_ : another innocent, genial breakfast with mum and dad.

She also had the air of someone who was, as she had said, knackered. Maybe not from the beach and the boat, but from their somewhat aggressive, soul-shaking romp.

But all of this could be interpreted a different way, and _that's_ what the Doctor was afraid of. Martha being so detached, and droopier than normal, he just couldn't be certain of who was in the driver's seat inside her mind. And damn it, with this turn of events, he couldn't just come out and _ask_ her how she felt about last night's "trauma," and get a definitive answer.

When he'd hatched this plan, things had been so simple. Leave it to a girl's parents to throw a wrench in talking to her about all-consuming, electric sex.

* * *

El Brillo was busy, so it took a while for the meals to arrive.

But just before they did, the Doctor seemed lost in a reverie, and the Jones family simply carried on with their conversation. Francine told Martha about yesterday's shopping trip, and about how Donna had inexplicably (though brilliantly) turned up at their suite the night before, with some champagne and mini-cakes from the hotel's confectioner. Clive regaled his wife and daughter with a few cute tales from the toddler water-park, where he and Leo had spent half of yesterday with little Keisha.

When the food arrived, Martha, Francine and Clive tucked in gladly.

"Doctor?" Clive said. "Doctor?"

"Oh… erm… yeah…" he said, coming out of his stupor, looking down at the table in front of him at the croissant he had ordered. "Right. Food. Sorry."

For two or three minutes, everything was silent while they ate.

Then, it was, predictably, Clive who broke this particular sheet of ice.

"So, Doctor. What's next for you?"

The Doctor and Martha looked at one another rather blankly.

"I honestly have no idea," the Time Lord answered.

* * *

 **Uh-oh. What's happening?!**

 **Leave me a review, and let me know how on-the-edge-of-your-seat you are! (Just kidding about that last part. Please do leave me a review, though! :-) )**


	17. Chapter 17

**Is there an alien (other than the Doctor) in their midst?**

 **Well, in order to find out, we must first wade through an awkward breakfast with the folks...**

* * *

SEVENTEEN

For two or three minutes, everything was silent while they ate.

Clive Jones could definitely sense that his daughter was uncomfortable, and he reckoned that Francine could, as well. But, unlike Francine, he didn't see discomfort as an opportunity for a teachable moment, especially now that their children were grown. As unwise a decision as it had been, asking the Doctor if he and Francine could join him, they were there now, together, and there was no turning back… unless someone had a time machine.

He chuckled at that thought.

And as long as they were in it, and it was sort of his fault, he might as well try and diffuse the tension.

"So, Doctor. What's next for you?" he asked.

The Doctor and Martha looked at one another rather blankly.

"I honestly have no idea," the Time Lord answered.

At that, Clive noticed Martha frowning a bit, before shaking it off and popping a bite-size piece of ham into her mouth. He wondered what she was holding back from saying to the Doctor, because of her parents' presence.

He could plainly see that part of Martha's squirmy behaviour was due to the fact she hadn't counted on seeing her mum and dad at breakfast, though clearly _had_ counted on seeing the Doctor. And, given the fact that the entire family had horned in on their reunion two mornings previously, and Martha had not behaved with a fraction of the squirminess she was exhibiting today, he had to assume that something had changed.

And he could guess what that _something_ might have been. He could read between the lines of the "official story" of yesterday's adventures.

But again, unlike his wife, he didn't see it as a problem, or an opportunity to preach. What was he going to do, demand that Martha find someone _better_?

The conversation was stilted, but at least there was conversation. He kept the silence at bay by having a conversation with Martha, as Francine wasn't particularly happy with the food or the situation, and uncharacteristically, the Doctor was quiet.

Though, as they finished up, it was Francine who asked, apprehensively, "So, are you going on the nature hike, Martha?"

"The what?"

"Leo and Nadine and Tish and Keisha are going on a guided nature hike this afternoon," Francine explained. "They bought you a ticket."

"Oh," Martha said. "I'm not sure."

Francine gave the Doctor a none-too-subtle glance. "I see."

Clive rolled his eyes at this, but no-one saw.

"I mean, we said we were going to play it by ear today. I'm not sure if…" Martha trailed off.

"Well, you should give Tish a ring, and let her know yea or nay," Francine advised. "Apparently, they tried reaching you last night, but couldn't get hold of you."

Clive cringed.

"Yeah, I guess I went to bed a bit early," Martha sighed, trying to deflect her mother's busybody nature.

When the bill came, Martha insisted on charging the whole thing to her own credit card, as thanks to her parents, and the Doctor. This was much to the dismay of her mother (for some reason).

And then, thankfully, the four of them stood up, and dispersed. Clive and Francine walked in the direction of "their" part of the resort, while the Doctor and Martha intentionally went the opposite way, toward the beach.

* * *

Halfway down the grassy hill leading them to the beach where they'd spent part of yesterday, the Doctor said, "Did you enjoy your breakfast?"

"Well, it was interesting," Martha said.

"Yeah," he agreed. "I don't think that's what I expected this morning."

"I don't think it's what I expected either."

"It's a nice day, isn't it?" he commented. Then he stopped short, and said, "Are we headed for the beach? Are we dressed for the beach?"

"Oh, um... I guess we can head back to the beach," she said. Martha looked down at her black shorts and orange tank top. "I guess I'm fine, I'm not planning on swimming or anything. But you look a bit stifled in that suit."

"Am I overdressed? Again?" he asked, rather awkwardly.

She laughed. "You do tend to do that."

"With a few exceptions, obviously."

"Obviously," she answered, under her breath. Then she cleared her throat, and said, "It's okay. I find it… let's say, adorably gauche."

"Adorably gauche?" he asked, with something of a smile. "That doesn't sound like something you'd say, Martha Jones."

"Well I just said it, didn't I?"

"Indeed," he muttered. Then he turned back the way they'd come, and said, "Let's go back. We'll find something else to do."

"Something else to do. Hm," she said, flatly, inscrutably. "Well, okay. I suppose we're quite good at filling our time with adventures."

"We _are_ good at that, aren't we?" he asked, grabbing her hand, and continuing the walk.

"I suppose I should find something else to wear," he commented, pulling at his collar, and loosening his tie. "Blimey, what was I thinking this morning?"

She walked along with him, and stared at him a bit. "I really don't know, Doctor. What _were_ you thinking about this morning?"

He looked back at her. "Not the relationship between the warm weather, and my chosen clothing."

"Of course not," she shrugged. "On a morning like _this_?"

"Sooooo many other interesting things to ponder…" he mused, trailing off.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, and eventually she said, "I've got to tell you, when I saw my parents at the breakfast table, for a minute, I thought you'd invited them. I thought _what the hell is he playing at?_ "

"What, indeed," he said, with a chuckle.

"Right. Especially considering…" she stopped short, and swallowed hard. "Well, you know."

"Yeah," he said, absently.

They came upon the Zen garden where the Doctor and Donna had first seen Nadine, several days before. Martha gestured to it, and asked, "Want to have a sit? We'll be able to chat."

"Sure, okay."

They walked down the stairs into the Japanese-themed garden, with its white sand, bamboo, and black lacquer benches.

They chose one of these benches, and sat.

"This is nice," Martha said. "Very serene."

"It is that," the Doctor commented, looking around.

"Well, I guess that's sort of the point."

"It is."

Another few minutes passed in silence, and then, Martha took a deep breath, plucked up a Herculean amount of strength and courage to ask, "Well, are we going to keep tapdancing around this thing, like penguins, or are we going to talk for real?"

"Tapdancing? I wasn't aware that's what we were doing."

"We'll, we're definitely avoiding the elephant in the room."

"Penguins, elephants… quite the menagerie."

"Doctor, stop it!"

He turned and looked at her earnestly. "You're upset."

"Bloody right! Talk to me!"

"About what?"

"About what? What do you mean, _about what_? Talk to me about what's next! Did we make a huge mistake? I mean… what do we do? What's going to happen?"

"I don't know. I suppose you could go on the nature hike with your siblings."

"I mean _for us._ What's next, for us?"

"Do you want me to come with you on the hike? I suppose we could try to get an extra ticket…"

"Ugh, Doctor," she groaned, burying her face in her hands, momentarily. "I feel like I'm in bloody limbo. Considering the last twelve hours of our lives, I think I'm well within my rights to ask for a few answers."

He looked at her and frowned. "The last twelve hours…"

She sighed. "Yes. Considering all of that…"

"Yeah?" he asked, after she failed to finish the thought.

She grew very exasperated. "Considering what happened after you came back… remember? We said good night, I took a shower, I guess you did too, and then you came back. And then you kissed me, and wound up… staying for a while."

"I see."

Martha forced down a surge of frustration. "Come on. Can you please, please, _please_ stop mucking me about? I'm serious. We _need_ to talk about what happens now."

"Okay, let's."

And then he waited for her to say something.

After an uncomfortable period, she took a deep breath and said, "Okay, look, I don't know why you're looking at me so expectantly, or being so difficult about this. And _you are_ being difficult… I guess I should've known, when I think about how you've been for the last two years."

"Right. When we travelled together, and then we spent a year defeating the Master."

"Yeah," she said, looking at him quizzically. She blinked twice, then found her footing again. "So, Doctor, _you're_ the one with the TARDIS, and the wanderlust and… with the travelling and the trouble-shooting and the rootlessness. You're the one with the new Companion. You're the one, let's face it, holding all the cards. Me, I'm… well, yesterday, I'd have told you that I'm a changed woman. And in many ways, I am. But in _this_ particular matter, Doctor, I'm in the same situation as I always was: with you under my skin, you being _obtuse_ about it, to say the least, and no clue what to do. So, the ball, as always, is in your court. You need to tell me where we stand."

"Where we stand," he repeated, musing rather distantly.

Another uncomfortable silence ensued… this time it was too much for her. She got to her feet and shouted, "Damn it, Doctor! Focus! Talk! Throw me a bone!"

"I'm trying…"

"No, you're bloody well not!"

"Martha…"

His calmness infuriated her. She was now shrieking, "Oh my God, Doctor, why did you even bother? If you have no more willingness to talk to me about this stuff than you ever did… if you have no more _respect_ for me, for my feelings, than you ever did, then why did you come back last night? If you aren't willing to look me in the eye and tell me where we go from here, which you _knew_ you'd have to do, then why did you start it? Why did you kiss me? Why did you… why any of it?"

"I'm sorry…"

"No, no," she sighed, framing her face with her hands, in irritation. "I can answer that question. I know why you did it. Of course I know: you're a bloke. You're no different than any man, are you? I mean I know you've got that spaceship and all this _knowledge,_ and whatnot, but… for God's sake, why the hell would I ever think that you would be different from _men_ , underneath it all?"

"I'm a bloke."

"Yes. And why do _blokes_ do the things they do, eh? Why do they lie to and manipulate us?"

"I don't know," he said, eyes wide with alarm.

"Because their dicks tell them to," she spat at him, her voice hard as nails.

There was an older couple coming down the stairs into the Zen garden. At that point, they turned around and walked back up, muttering to one another and stealing glances at Martha.

"Right," the Doctor commented, tranquilly.

"Okay, great. Glad that's settled," she said, the sarcasm spewing like lava rocks. "But then, what was with inviting me to breakfast? Just to rub in the fact that you intend to pretend like nothing happened? Like you didn't shake my world to its core? And don't go getting a big head about that, mate, it's more of a statement about my soul than my body."

"More about your soul than…?" he mused, looking genuinely confused.

" _Come to breakfast, Martha,"_ she said, in an affected tone. _"We'll spend the morning after the most gut-twisting, vision-blurring, Earth-shattering night of your life having toast, and doing what we've always done."_

"What's wrong with toast?"

At this, she made two little fists, and gathered them just below her chin. She squeezed hard, practically shaking with nervous rage. She took a deep, ragged breath, trying to calm herself. Then, eyes shut, she said, with a quivering voice, "Doctor, please, _please_ tell me this is all a joke. Tell me you're just being funny, and that you're not actually…" she sighed, unable to bring herself to finish the sentence. She had no idea _how_ to finish the sentence. Were there words for what he was doing to her now?

Another long silence passed, forcing her to open her eyes. She found him sitting on the bench, staring back at her intently, and almost innocently. It was like he was searching her, to work out what was wrong.

In practically a squeak, she breathed, "Oh my God," with a dawning realisation. Yesterday, last night. This morning. Now. The Doctor. Her love, and his historic indifference. The sun, the beach, the sea, the boat, the bed. Their bodies. The idea that he's _just a bloke_ at his core. Her past and future – so much goddamn pain. As she hurried away from him, out of the Zen garden, back toward her room, she repeated "Oh my God, oh my God."

And he didn't even try to stop her.

* * *

 **I find that I'm quite emotional about this chapter! :-o**

 **Hope you are too! Please review and let me know... reviews show you care! 3**


	18. Chapter 18

EIGHTEEN

Barely holding it together, Martha used her card-key to enter the wing of the hotel where she was staying with her family. It occurred to her to wonder at, and dismiss, the notion that there might be a way to make the mechanism impervious to a sonic screwdriver.

 _What the hell would I know about a deadlock seal? I can't even keep my own body under deadlock…_

She laughed bitterly at this revelation, and tried very hard not to be angry with _herself_ , for this state of affairs. It was nigh on impossible, though.

Her breathing was steady, but she had to concentrate hard to keep it so, as she stood in the wing's foyer to wait for the lift.

When the light above the doors went _ping_ , she took an absent step forward, anticipating stepping inside. As often happens, though, she had not anticipated someone else stepping off.

She moved to her right, apologising quickly and rather absently, and then stepped into the lift.

"Hey, you," said a familiar voice, as she pressed the button for the fourth floor.

Martha looked up, and found Donna Noble looking back. "Oh! Hi."

The doors shut, and the lift began to descend. "The TARDIS is in the basement," Donna explained, when Martha looked up, confusedly, at the display indicating where they were headed.

"Oh," Martha said, flatly. Then she swallowed hard, holding down a sob.

Of course, this was not lost on Donna. She was keen at sensing pain (especially pain in a woman, brought on by the actions of a man), not to mention, she'd received a text confirming that the Doctor had done _something_ to her.

"You all right?" Donna asked.

"I'm fine," Martha answered, knowing that her voice was breaking, and she was totally unconvincing.

"Okay," Donna said. She was silent for about five seconds, and then she said, "You know I don't believe you, right?"

"I know."

The doors opened in a wide, carpeted space with a few tributary hallways. The walls were bland white, the carpets grey; there were no outward hints that this was a world-class luxury resort.

As they stepped off, Donna asked, "What did he do to you?"

Martha wasn't surprised at the question. Though, she did, initially, try half-heartedly to dodge it.

"What makes you think he did anything to me?"

"Come on, sweetheart. If you don't want to tell me, fine, but don't insult my highly refined skills of misery-reading."

Martha chuckled bitterly, once again. " _Touché_."

For the next few moments, they just walked in silence, until Donna found a door marked _Storage,_ and opened it, ushering Martha through. Immediately, Martha could see, on the other side of the room, the TARDIS sitting inside a caged-in space, probably meant for gardening equipment or something.

But she didn't walk toward it. She sat down on an armchair being stored here, near the door, and sighed. Donna pulled a café chair out of a dusty corner, and sat, waiting.

When Martha didn't say anything for a while, Donna asked "Are you going to tell me? Or am I wasting my time? Because if it's the latter, then we should just go up to the surface, and have a cocktail together or something… maybe check out the tropical garden on the east side, pretend like nothing's wrong."

"I want to tell you."

"Then do it," Donna urged, gently. "Just… spit it out. Like pulling off a bandage. Don't tell me a story – you can do that later. Just give me the grittiest bit: subject, verb, object. And you'll feel better."

"Okay then, you want the fast-and-dirty version?" Martha said, swallowing hard, seeing the wisdom in what Donna had said, but still thinking Donna's idea of a cocktail was a mighty good one. She looked Donna in the eye and said, "We had shag, and now, _quelle surprise_ , he can't be bothered about it."

Donna sat frozen for a moment or two – she seemed to be processing this new info. "Pardon?"

"You heard me," Martha told her a bit bitterly. "I spent over an hour last night in the throes of quite a violent series of bodily explosions. _Little deaths,_ as they say. One after another… after another."

"When you say _explosions_ , you mean…"

"You know what I mean," Martha snapped. She crossed her legs, one over the other, and crossed her arms over her chest, and pulled herself in tightly.

Donna was now incredibly torn. Part of her was not surprised that something physical had occurred between the Doctor and Martha yesterday, given their plan to spend the day scantily clad, alone, in the sun, in the water...

But part of her was so angry with him, she'd have liked to scream bloody murder, right there in that storage space. Part of her was confused by that anger, questioning everything she knew about the Doctor, herself, and the universe. Yet another part of her was trying to get calm, to hear the whole story.

Fortunately, this last part won out.

"Okay, just how _violent_ are we talking, and in what way?" Donna asked. She leaned forward toward Martha and rested her elbows on her knees.

"Violent, in that by the time I went to sleep, I'd never been quite so… wrung out, shaken to my core, turned inside-out. I was worn down. Quivering, weak…," Martha answered. Then she stopped, closed her eyes and sighed. "And I'd never been so bloody satisfied."

"So it was good."

A wave of heat came over Martha, and hard as she tried, she couldn't keep her voice even when she answered, "God, yes."

"And... consensual."

Martha frowned. "Of course."

"Okay. Just making sure," Donna said. She gathered her thoughts now, clasped her hands together and said, "So…he's being a cad about it this morning?"

"Yes!" Martha practically screamed. Now, she got to her feet, and began to pace. "Which just throws everything out the window that I thought I knew!"

"How d'you mean?"

"Or, at least everything I've been telling myself."

"Still don't know what you mean."

"I mean… he's so clever. Scary, scary, clever, and frankly, sometimes just scary. He's powerful, and benevolent and ancient and immortal and… ha! I thought all of that meant something." She actually laughed quite bitterly for a few seconds, then, she sat forward in her chair. "For God's sake, he's a _Time Lord_! He's this _lofty_ creature, this legend of the cosmos, and yet, at the heart of it all, he's just like the rest of them _."_

"The rest of whom?"

"Men! Thinking with their…"

"Martha, wait…"

"He's got his brain and soul rooted in time and space, his body regenerates, he's seen stars born and weep and die, and God only knows what else. And so, at the end of the day, what does he want for his trouble? A good, hard, abrasive fuck, with no strings attached."

"Whoa. Martha…"

"I suppose, when you consider what he's given us, and what he's done for us… done for me, my family, my planet and whatnot... maybe _one of us_ owes him _at least_ that much. And it's not like I didn't enjoy myself or get some vindication from it. But Jesus, you'd think he could at least stand to take responsibility, the morning after. He _could_ just break up with me (or whatever you call it) properly, instead of that bloody song-and-dance we went through."

Martha shivered, thinking about it, and her stomach sank.

"Okay, Martha, everything you're feeling now… it's all for a reason," Donna said, trying not to sound placating, and not succeeding.

"No offence, Donna," Martha said. "I really like you, but I'm going to have to ask you to spare me the _everything happens for a reason_ routine."

"No, that's not what I'm saying," Donna told her, standing up now, as well. "I'm saying… this morning, the whole being-an-arsehole rigmarole, the Doctor did it on purpose."

"I have no idea what that means," Martha said, stopping her pace, and facing Donna with her arms crossed over her chest. "But, I didn't think he'd done it _by accident_."

"I mean… ugh, I wish I could tell you the truth," Donna lamented, running her hands through her fiery hair. "He didn't want to break your heart! That's the last thing he'd want, Martha, believe me! In fact, I think it probably…"

" _Do not_ say that it hurt him more than it hurt me!"

Donna sighed. "Okay. I'm sorry. Look, Martha, love, this will all come into focus soon," she said gently grasping Martha's upper arm. "And I daresay you'll come out better for it in the end. And that's not a _what does not kill you makes you stronger_ sort of thing… it's a genuine observation. I think you'll wind up getting what you want, and so will the Doctor."

Martha began to pace again. "I don't even know what it is I want."

"Well, that's not the point," Donna told her. "The point is, all I'm asking you to do is… well, nothing hasty until you have more answers."

"What do you mean, _hasty_?"

"Don't burn any bridges, don't say anything you can't take back."

Martha looked at her in disbelief. " _He_ did. Why can't I?"

Again, Donna sighed. "I wish I could tell you."

Martha paced for a minute or so, thinking. Then she asked, "All right, let's say I'm going to listen to you. Let's say that I'm completely crackers, and I want to give the Doctor the benefit of the doubt. You say it will come into focus. You say I'll get some answers. When would that be, exactly?"

"I don't know, _exactly_ ," Donna said. "He's got to vanquish the Epidromeas."

"The what?"

"It's that alien."

"This shag-and-run business, it's all to do with the alien that's been body-hopping?"

"Yes."

"In what way? Wait, let me guess… can't tell me."

"Sorry."

Donna now wondered whether she'd given Martha too much information.

Pacing, pacing. "The Epidromeas, is that what it's called? The body-hopping thing that worked out how to possess my mum, then my dad…"

"And actually, your sister."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I talked to her yesterday about her boyfriend, that Adrian bloke," Donna told Martha. "And she didn't remember that he'd gone all 'roid rage,' and hit her."

"Oh, that's weird," Martha commented. "But… that's right, I'd forgotten about that: the alien doesn't remember recent trauma."

"No, it doesn't," Donna said, trying her best not to give anything else away, but dying to tell Martha that this was the key to it all.

"I know the Doctor was worried a couple of days ago that I might have been compromised, as well," Martha said, remembering. "But then, yesterday, he basically just shouted right in my face that he's the Doctor, and if anything was possessing me, it should take him instead."

Donna chuckled. "Now that sounds like him."

"Yeah, we were on the beach, and people stared at us. It was pretty weird. But then, he's pretty weird, so…" Martha mused, then seemed to switch gears. "I wonder why the Epidromeas thing can get access to everything else, but not super-recent trauma. Has the Doctor ever said?"

"He called it a _bodily event._ He thinks that when that sort of event makes a big impact on a person, it takes a while to understand the long-term implications. It takes weeks and months to fully process it. So, it's like when a piece of data is mid-upload, it's inaccessible as decipherable data."

"That makes sense," Martha said, nodding. "Well, as a weakness on the part of the Epidromeas, it's a pretty big one, I've got to say. Does the Epidromeas even know it _has_ that weakness?"

"I don't know," said Donna. "That's a good question, actually."

"'Cause for my mum and dad and Tish, wasn't it wicked obvious that they'd been infiltrated, once you two knew what to look for?"

"Yeah, it was."

"So the Doctor, if he wants to know where the thing is going next, all he'd have to do is…"

Martha stopped in mid-pace, and stared at the floor for a few moments. Donna knew then that Martha had figured it out, and she cursed herself inside her head.

She had been reluctant to give Martha too much intel because something had occurred to her in the last twenty-four hours. Namely, if the subject _knows_ a trauma has been implanted just for the sake of smoking out the Epidromeas, that knowledge would be accessible to the Epidromeas, and the trauma itself would be moot. Even if the memory itself is inaccessible to the alien, the _knowledge_ that the event occurred, and why, would still be there, right there in the conscious mind, ready for the picking.

She was realising now that Martha has asked whether the Epidromeas was aware of its weakness that she might have just cocked things up in more ways than one. Not only would Martha's "trauma" have been in vain, then, but the Epidromeas would then become aware of its Achilles heel, should it attack Martha.

Therefore, she realised, the safeguard she had set up for herself and the Doctor… not effective. They'd just been lucky that neither of them had been compromised yet.

Martha finished her thought. "Given the Epidromeas' bizarre little weakness, if the Doctor wants to know if someone is being driven by it, all he'd have to do is traumatize that person."

"Yeah," Donna sighed.

"Do something awful to them, then keep them talking over the next few days, to see if they forget about it," Martha continued.

Donna lowered her voice to almost a whisper, as though her words would have less effect if she said them more softly. "You _had_ to know deep down that he'd never do this to you unless there was a damn good reason."

"I've known a lot of things deep down, but _this_ sort of thing, and how it concerns the Doctor… it's always been a mystery to me. A big, bloody frustrating mystery," Martha said, almost as softly. Then she met her friend's eye. "Frankly Donna, I don't _know_ anything."

"Well, maybe that's good. Maybe some disbelief will make it so that I didn't just blow the whole thing. Just barely. Maybe."

"I've no idea what you're saying," Martha chuckled.

"That's probably good, too," Donna retorted. Then she took her seat again, in the dusty café chair she had extracted from storage. Martha though, continued to pace, and Donna suggested, "Maybe you should relax."

"Sorry – when I'm upset, I pace," Martha said. "I guess I'm a bit like the Doctor that way. Maybe that's where I picked it up. I have to mull."

Donna laughed. "Mull. Mulling over lovemaking and rejection… I could write a book about it."

"Lovemaking and rejection," Martha said absently. After a few beats, she said, "Well, actually, if I'm honest, neither of those things happened."

"Pardon?"

Martha exhaled hard. "What we did last night, you couldn't really call it _lovemaking_ , and honestly…"

"Wait. Why not?"

Martha stopped and looked at her, then felt herself blush. "Well, you know. It was too… intense. Aggressive. Too many ups and downs, too much, you know…" then she made a gesture with her hands, and a sound with her mouth to indicate an explosion. "…to really be called _lovemaking_. And I hate that word, anyway."

"Okay, that's the second time you've used _explosion_ as an analogy," Donna said, clearly having latched onto something important.

"Well, what can I tell you? It's à propos," Martha said, with an understated shrug. "I guess nine hundred years of life will give a man a few skills. My whole body was, like, buzzing and popping for over an hour… during, and after… not that there was much of an _after_ before I went _thud_ and fell asleep."

Martha was aware that she was describing this whole thing rather too calmly. She reckoned if the morning had gone as she'd hoped, she'd be in Tish's room just now, gushing about all of this, with a great big, goofy, lovesick smile on her face.

Also, a little part of her was appalled that she was having this conversation, describing a shattering shag with the Doctor with anyone at all, let alone Donna, the new Companion. But she supposed that the Doctor had been right when he'd told Donna that a major bodily event takes a while to sort out, and Martha had said herself: she needed to mull. Talking about it was part of that process, she felt.

And, under ordinary circumstances, Donna might have said that this was more than she _ever_ could want to know about the Doctor, and what goes on behind closed doors. But today was different. These revelations were important, and she didn't have time to think of how this was really too much information.

Donna sat back in her chair, and crossed her arms over her chest. "Thud, eh? Wore you out."

"Yeah," Martha answered, a bit meekly. "Thoroughly."

"Buzzing, popping, worn out… only to be rejected the next day?"

"Well, like I said, _that_ isn't quite true either. He didn't so much reject me as act like he…" she stopped short.

"…couldn't remember it had happened at all?"

Martha's face fell. "Shit."

* * *

 **Well, most of you figured it out before Martha and Donna, but still... how do you feel?**

 **(I loved writing this chapter, by the way!)**


	19. Chapter 19

**This chapter is a bit bizarre, now that I'm reading it again, and takes a turn halfway through. From "ship" to a bit of mild violence... hope you are excited, and enjoy!**

* * *

NINETEEN

"So, we've got our work cut out for us, yeah?" asked Donna, dusting off her clothes incongruously. She was referring to the fact that she and Martha had just discovered that the Doctor is possessed by a body-jumping alien. The Doctor, in fact, was the alien's Endgame, as far as they knew. Possess the Doctor, possess all of Time and Space.

Martha placed her palm on her forehead. "Oh, God… the Doctor, during breakfast with my parents…"

"With your parents?"

"Yeah… apparently they saw him sitting alone and asked if they could join," Martha sighed. "He's too nice to tell them _no_."

"Oh, I bet that properly annoyed him," Donna commented. "He probably wanted to test the waters with you straight away… try to talk to you about last night, suss out the situation, but then couldn't."

"I now realise, that's exactly what he was trying to do. Anyway, the point is, during breakfast he got this faraway look, and didn't even notice when the food arrived," Martha explained. "My dad snapped him to, and the Doctor sat up straight and seemed to realise for the first time that he was supposed to be having breakfast. From there, the conversation changed."

"How so?"

"Well for one thing, the Doctor was quiet," Martha said. "Not just not-talking, which is weird enough. But he was… retiring. Not making eye-contact. Just being… not-quite-himself. I thought maybe he'd got an involuntary memory of last night or something, and felt sheepish because my parents were there. But now I wonder…"

"…if that's the moment when the Epidromeas slipped in?"

"Yeah."

"Well, sounds like it could be, but we may never know," Donna said. "In the meantime, we should probably guard the TARDIS."

"How the hell do we do that?" Martha asked, with a scared chuckle, as the two of them began to cross the storage space toward the TARDIS.

"I guess we'll know that when it needs to be done. I hope, anyway."

They slipped through the gate into the caged-in area that held gardening supplies, and Martha became contemplative.

"He tried to _traumatise_ me with _sex_?" Martha asked, as Donna unlocked and opened the TARDIS door.

"You're just realising that now?"

"With clarity, yeah."

"Yes, Martha. He tried, and I daresay he succeeded, based on what you've said," Donna said, as Martha walked past. She stepped inside, turned and locked the door, then said. "You used the _explosion_ metaphor twice, and used words like _aggressive_ and _violent._ "

"I did, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you scared me, at first. But we're both being daft… because, Martha, come on. We both know good and well that he would never hurt you – or anyone, really – if there was _any_ way round it."

"I know. But blimey, I suppose for a while, he thought he'd have to…" Martha speculated, walking up the ramp behind Donna. "What? Do something brutal?"

"I thought he was winding up to do something right nasty," Donna told her. "He wouldn't tell me what he had in mind, so I was thinking all sorts of things. But he's such a do-gooder, I couldn't imagine what he could possibly bring himself to orchestrate. I mean, you survived that whole thing with the Master, not to mention, before that, a whole year of, what? Daleks? Death traps? The Doctor's singing? I knew he'd have to jar you pretty hard, and told him so, but just couldn't bloody fathom it!"

"Aren't there things he could have done with holograms, that ultimately aren't real? And saved himself from…"

"From what? Having to see you naked? Oh shudder, shudder!" Donna laughed out loud.

"Okay, okay…"

"Maybe he _could_ do it with holograms, but," Donna said. "But if I had to guess, he couldn't bear the thought of you in real distress, even if _the cause_ wasn't real."

Martha smiled sheepishly. "Well, I'm glad he bothered to work out a way. I never thought _trauma_ could be something that…" In lieu of words, she made two fists and placed them at her abdomen, and squeezed. "…you know?"

"Not first-hand, but… I get what you're saying."

"Honestly, he could have come at me with a fraction of the fervour, and it would have had the same effect. I'd be a bit shell-shocked for a week or so, wondering what it all means… just like I am now. Uploading."

"I'm not so sure about that," Donna said. "Because, think about it. If those guys in the pub had come after your dad with sofa cushions instead of pool cues, do you think it would have been half the ordeal? Part of it, I think, is the literal impact. Confusing the nerves and the senses, you know?"

"I suppose," Martha said, conceding.

"Either that, or…"

"What?" Martha asked, as Donna sat down on the single seat in the console room, and she herself leaned on the control panel, with her arms crossed over her chest.

"Well, maybe that's just how he is," Donna shrugged. "You know… when the lights go out, if you will. Not that I want to spend a whole lot of time thinking about it, mind you, but he is quite… energetic."

"Passionate," Martha said flatly. "Aggressive. Explosive."

"And very occasionally… violent. Though, most of the time, that bit of him has a lid on."

Martha's face fell. "No wonder he was so… different. Amenable."

"How do you mean?"

"Just that, in that year we spent together travelling, we held hands once in a while, we'd flirt and whatnot… once, we even kissed. But that was as far as it went – never had we had anything like our day at the beach yesterday, even when we had to share a flat and a bed for three months. We'd never had something so free, easy… hot. I was feeling a genuine change in him, in our whole relationship, yesterday. Guess it was all just ramping up to the _coup de grâce,_ eh?"

"Meh… I'd say it was a two-birds-with-one-stone sort of situation," Donna said. "'Cause he got to give you the bodily trauma that would help him fight the alien, and also he got to be with someone he fancies like mad."

"What?" Martha asked with her eyes suddenly very wide.

"And, he got laid for the first time in God knows how long. Centuries? So, three birds."

"I doubt it's been centuries, but… wait, back up!"

Donna laughed again. "The look that comes over his face when he talks about you is unmistakable, Martha. Almost from the day I came aboard, he'd talk about you and… I knew. Day one. Or, day two, at the latest." She winked.

"This is how you know?"

"Yes," Donna shrugged.

Martha frowned. "I'm dubious."

"You be dubious all you like, but I'm telling you. I'm not trained to take bloods and look into microscopes to find out what's wrong with people. I find out by looking at their eyes and mouths, and listening to their voices change and watching their body language. You spend twenty years as a secretary, you learn to read people, because they don't always tell you what they want, and not giving it to them can cost you a job. Trust me."

Martha sighed. "Okay. Again, benefit of the doubt."

"Plus, think about this: do you really think that if he _traumatised_ you simply as a means to an end, that it would have been traumatic enough _for him_ to have it not be accessible to the Epidromeas the next day?"

"I suppose not."

"I mean, all of the explosions and buzzing and popping, the whole business giving you both a good, solid _jostling_ … yeah, I suppose that's part of it. But _just being with you_ was at least as much of a big deal to him, as it is to you. The proof is in the alien who's now walking around in his body, and can't remember any of it."

Martha smiled. "Okay, you've convinced me," she said, and Donna wasn't sure if she was telling the truth, or just placating her. "But ironically, the Doctor as we know him is gone, unless we can figure out how to vanquish this Epidromeas thing without his help, _before_ it uses the Doctor's brain to steal the TARDIS and wreak havoc across the cosmos. Unfortunately, all the talking about it in the world isn't going to help."

"Damn it," Donna spat, now on her feet, pacing on the metal floor. "Why didn't I get him to tell me what his plan was? If I'd known what he was intending to do once it infiltrated you, maybe we could use that info."

"Because the both of you were convinced it was going to get me next."

"The Doctor seemed pretty sure."

"Well, anyway," Martha sighed. "Something tells me that his 'plan' was going to be to try and reason with it."

"Talk it to death, you mean?"

"Well, yeah."

That's when they heard the sound of a key sliding into a lock.

Both women bolted down the ramp, and just as the door was opening a smidge, they threw themselves against it. They turned their backs on it, bent their knees, bracing themselves with all of their weight against the door. Martha reached up and re-locked it.

The key slid into the lock again outside, they heard it unlatch, but Martha instantly re-locked it.

And, this happened a third time.

 _Well, this could go on for a while,_ she thought.

They heard the pulse of the sonic screwdriver, and heard the locking mechanism hitch, and something fall. They both knew that he had disabled the lock completely. Martha reached up again to test it, and the dial just spun round without latching.

She cursed under her breath. Now it was his strength against theirs. A human male of the Doctor's size could fairly easily overpower both of them and get through the door… she had no reason to think that a Time Lord (or an Epidromeas using a Time Lord's body) would be any different.

They both felt a stiff shove against the door at their backs.

"Donna, are you in there?" the Doctor's voice sounded through the door. "What's going on?"

"Erm… closed for maintenance!" she shouted back.

Martha frowned at her and mouthed, "What?"

"Very cute. Seriously, Donna, let me in," the Doctor's voice demanded.

"Can't do it, sorry!"

"Look," Martha said. "We know you're not really the Doctor. You need to leave his body be, or there will be consequences! We know how to contact the Shadow Proclamation!"

There was silence outside. Then, "I don't know what you're talking about. Martha, please, open the door," the thing said, quite calmly.

"You need to move on, mate," Donna told it. "We know you're an Epidromeas, and the Doctor is going to be so not-pleased that you tried to steal his life!"

"An Epi- what?" it asked. At this, Martha and Donna looked at each other. The Doctor _definitely_ knew what an Epidromeas was, and would not feign ignorance of it. "You're talking nonsense. Just let me come in, and we can work this all out."

"We can't let you in. The Doctor, yes. But not you," Martha told it.

Again, there was a long moment of silence. And then, the thing outside gave a deep, violent, angry cry in the Doctor's voice, and kicked the door with all of the strength it had.

Martha and Donna jerked forward, but weren't moved from their position at the door. It was enough force, though, that it made them realise their moments of keeping him out were truly numbered.

"Donna, this door is just wood," Martha breathed. "He's _going_ to get in."

"If I can get to the console, I know how to put up this forcefield thingie," Donna said quietly to Martha. "That might keep him out."

The thing outside tried to break down the door again, with another swift, noisy kick.

"You can't walk away from me, Donna," Martha said. "I can't hold him."

With that, the alien started to push. They pushed back…

"Argh! Why didn't I think of pushing that button before this started happening?" Donna shouted.

"I don't know, but it's no good wondering now!" Martha answered.

They could hear him straining outside, but little by little, their feet slid forward, and they lost ground. Both women strained as well, but weren't able to keep the door in place, once the thing decided it wanted in.

And then, one pinstriped arm and leg crept inside the TARDIS through the gap he'd been able to make in the door. He was now using his whole body to widen the opening, so he could slip through.

Then, to Martha's horror, Donna let go of her footing and stumbled forward. The force the Doctor's body was exuding caused him, and Martha, to stumble onto the metal floor, face first.

The thing lifted its head, and looked at her through the Doctor's normally warm brown eyes. It smiled slightly at her, and made her blood run cold.

But in a split second, it was trying to stand, and from its body language, Martha was _sure_ she was about to be attacked…

Something moved behind him, though, and now, Martha could see why Donna stumbled away from them.

There was a coat-rack near the door, inside the TARDIS, though the Doctor always threw his coat onto one of the tree-like columns to their right. The bottom of it now came barreling toward them, and the circular metal bar crashed down upon his head with a _thud._

He was immediately knocked out, and went limp on the floor.

Panting, Donna asked, "All right, Dr. Jones. How long do we have before he comes to?"

Martha stood up, and moved quickly away from the unconscious man in the suit. "Dunno," she said. "Probably just a few minutes. Let's get him out of here fast."

"Good idea," said Donna. She stepped over him, and out the door. "Give me a hand, would you?"

Together, they were able to drag him out of the TARDIS by his ankles.

Martha pulled her mobile phone from her pocket.

"Who are you calling?" asked Donna.

"My brother."

* * *

 **Whoa!**

 **Know what I'm gonna say now? X-D Please review!**


	20. Chapter 20

TWENTY

Martha stuck her head out the door that led from the storage area, to the sterile white and grey hallway beyond. Within a few seconds, Leo stepped off the lift, and she got his attention, and motioned for him to hurry.

"Martha, what the hell?" he asked, jogging toward her.

"Shh," she said, looking up and down the hall. "We're not supposed to be here."

He reacted in a way that seemed to say, _no kidding._

She ushered him into the storage space, and he stopped short, pointing at the TARDIS in the cage. "Is _that_ the ship?" he asked.

"Yes, Leo, but…"

"Oh-ho! Is it really bigger on the inside? I've _got_ to see the interior of that thing!"

"Yeah… can we do this later? I don't know how long we have!"

"For what?"

Martha grabbed his hand, and led him through the labyrinth of patio and hotel furniture, to the corner where Donna was standing. Only then did Leo see the Doctor, face down, unconscious on the floor outside the TARDIS.

"Oh, boy," Leo said, remaining quite calm. "What did you do to him?"

"Donna knocked him out," Martha answered quickly.

"Yeah, but I had a really good reason!" Donna insisted.

Martha knelt beside the Doctor's body, and said, "First help me get him turned over."

Leo didn't ask any questions. He knelt, grabbed one of the Doctor's arms, and pulled it upward toward him, and Martha helped by pushing from the other side. Leo caught the head, and kept it from thudding onto the concrete floor.

Martha then undid the buttons of the Doctor's suit coat, and pulled his tie loose. She unbuttoned his shirt at the throat, and pulled one of his shirt tails out of his trousers.

"Erm, Martha, I know things have changed a lot for you in the last twelve hours, but there's a time and a place, my dear" Donna said, sardonically.

"Shush," Martha scolded.

"Well, what the hell are you doing?" Donna now practically shouted.

"We have to make it seem like he's had a few too many, or we're going to get a lot of questions in the hallways," Martha explained, mussing the Doctor's hair (more than usual). She also untied both of his shoes, and pulled one so that it was hanging halfway off his foot. Then she asked Leo, "I don't suppose you have any booze on you?"

"What, like a flask in my pocket?" he asked, with a smirk.

"If you did, we could splash it on him, and remove all doubt."

"Sorry, it's flask is freshly empty."

"Fine, whatever. Help me get him upright. We're going to take him to my room, on the fourth floor."

"Why?" Leo wondered.

"I told you, I'll fill you in later. It's a long story, okay?" She bent, and grabbed one of the Doctor's hands, and pulled. "Just hoist."

Leo stepped over to the Doctor's feet. "Let me do it," he ordered her, practically shoving her out of the way. He grabbed both of the Doctor's hands, and pulled, and was able to get his shoulders under the unconscious Time Lord's body, and then stand completely upright.

Donna set about clearing a wide path through the room packed with debris, between where they were standing, and the door to the corridor.

Leo moved slowly through the rubbish, and Martha replaced it all, after they passed.

They stepped out into the hall, only to hear, "Er, excuse me?" coming from behind them.

They turned, stunned. A severe-looking woman in a suit stood there, with one hand on her hip.

"Sorry!" Donna said, affably. "Our friend got completely _soused_ last night. Must've wandered down here for some reason. We'll just… you know, get out of your hair now. We're just going to get him upstairs, so he can sleep it off."

And with that, she gestured for Leo to move quickly. He did so, as best he could, while Martha ran for the lift. They rode up to the fourth floor, praying that no-one would get on-board from ground-level. And no-one did.

Martha led the way down the hall to her room, and slid the cardkey into the slot. She heard it go _click_ , and opened the door for Leo. He had to turn sideways (as he'd had to do to leave the storage room) in order to clear the door with the Doctor's body slung over him, but he managed.

"Good," Martha said, looking around the room, relieved to see the bed made. "Housekeeping's already been by."

"Where shall I put him?" he wondered.

"On the floor, over there," Martha said. "Can you sit him up, so his back is against the bed?"

Leo did as she had asked.

Martha then pulled the Doctor's necktie completely off, and used it to tie his hands together, then to the leg of the bed. She asked Leo to pull the knot taut, for good measure.

"There, now," she said. "It's not ideal, but it'll hold him for a bit."

"No, it won't!" Leo protested.

"Well, it's all we've got!" Martha said. "If you've got handcuffs, I'm all for that, but..."

"Fine, he's secure. Ish. Now, what the hell is happening?"

Again, Martha grabbed her brother's hand and ushered him toward the door. Donna followed them out into the hall, and toward the lift.

"There's an alien possessing the Doctor," Martha said. "And he… well, sort of attacked us."

"Isn't the Doctor already an alien?" Leo asked.

"Yeah, but he's… just the Doctor," Martha answered. "Something else has him right now. It's inside his mind, driving his body and everything."

"That's… wow, that's really weird," Leo commented.

"And," Donna added. "He wasn't so much attacking us, as he was trying to get into the TARDIS."

"What for?"

"Why do you think? To wield Time and Space," Martha said. "To take for himself whatever the Doctor possesses… power, influence, information, near-immortality…"

"Amazing hair," Leo added.

"That too," Martha said, pressing the button for the lift. "Which is why we have to get back down to the basement and defend the TARDIS. We can't make it _go_ anywhere without the Doctor's know-how. But the Doctor's know-how is currently being held hostage, so… we have to just keep him out of the TARDIS until we work out a way to vanquish the thing, without harming the host. Which, of course, means we have to think of something other than just keeping him unconscious for days on-end."

"And tying him to a bedpost on the fourth floor does what?"

"Buys us time. That's it. He'll have to spend some time wriggling free, then he'll have to spend some time coming downstairs. Honestly, I have no other ideas."

"Okay. So, keep the Doctor away from the TARDIS. Count me in," Leo shrugged.

"Seriously?"

"What am I in Mallorca for, if not to sit in a storage basement and wait for an alien to turn up, and try to steal a time machine?"

"Thanks," Martha said, with a smile.

"Meh. I didn't want to go on that hike anyway," he told her. "That was Tish's bright idea."

When the lift doors opened, there was already a couple inside, and so Leo, Martha and Donna stepped in, with polite nods, and said nothing on the ride down. Leo pressed the button for the basement, but the couple, obviously, were headed for the ground floor.

And when the lift doors opened on the ground floor, the couple stepped off, only to reveal Clive, Francine and Tish Jones, standing, waiting.

"Hey, you lot!" Leo called out. "We're just headed down to the basement. You'll never believe what's happened!"

Martha sighed with exasperation. "Leo, stop, wait."

He ploughed through her comment. "The Doctor's not the Doctor right now, and we have to keep him out of his spaceship!"

"Shhhhh!" Martha scolded, as some folks happened by, and looked at him quizzically. They'd been speaking French to each other, but Martha reckoned that they could understand just fine what Leo had just shouted. "Are you kidding me with that voice?"

"What's this, now?" Francine asked her, with a deeply-carved frown.

"Oh, for God's sake," Martha muttered. She reached forward and grabbed her mother's hand and pulled her into the lift. Clive and Tish stepped in as well, both asking disjointed questions.

The party of six made their way to the storage space in the basement, where Martha said to her family, gathered in a crescent around her, "You all insist on knowing what's up?" she asked her family.

They all agreed, yes, they do insist.

"There's an alien called the Epidromeas. Or maybe it's _an_ Epidromeas, I'm not really clear on that," Martha said. "Actually, Donna, can you…?"

"I don't know much about it, but I know this thing has been after the Doctor for days. It's been using you lot to try and find him," she said. "That's why we caught up with you here… it wasn't a coincidence. We tracked it here to Mallorca, and realised it had followed you here, and was going to try and infiltrate your bodies and consciousnesses, to try and feel out the Doctor."

"Excuse me?" Clive asked. "Infiltrate…"

"Yes," Donna said. "From what we can tell, Francine was the first person affected. Three our four days ago, just after she got her hand caught in the door of that moving bus."

"Me? I've been… infiltrated? What on earth does that mean?" Francine wondered, horrified, with her hand over her heart.

"It means that it took over your mind for a while, and drove your body and actions, probably explored your memories and thoughts to see if you're… well, a Time Lord," Donna said.

"Well! That's just… I'd never…."

Donna asked Clive, "Do you remember when her hand was caught in the bus' door?"

"Of course!"

"Do you remember that she forgot about it soon after… then remembered again?"

"Yes!"

"That's when she wasn't herself," Donna said. "That's when the Epidromeas was controlling her."

"After that, Dad," Martha chimed in. "It got you. That day when you and the Doctor went to play golf…"

"I barely even remember playing golf," Clive reported.

"Well, it stands to reason. Because… well, you were roughed up in a pub fight a couple nights ago, weren't you?"

"Clive!" Francine shouted.

"I was, yes," Clive admitted.

"And you forgot about it the next day," Martha told him. "At least, according to the Doctor, who was, at the time, operating at full capacity."

"Oh, dear," he grumbled.

"Tish, it had you for a while yesterday while we were out shopping," Donna said.

"It did?"

"Yeah. I asked you about your ex-boyfriend Adrian, just to see if you'd remember when he attacked you…"

"And I'd forgotten?"

Donna nodded.

"Blimey," Tish said.

"What about me?" Leo asked. "Has it been in my head? Or Nadine's? Or, God forbid…"

"No," Martha interrupted. "The Doctor says you and Nadine and Keisha are more or less immune, because you don't have any time-anomalous residue on you."

"And _we_ do?" asked Tish, gesturing to herself, and her mother and father.

"Yes, from that year aboard the Valiant, and having been present when the Doctor turned back time."

The room was silent for a few moments, then Donna began speaking. "Over the last two or three days, the Doctor and I have been trying to work out who it was going to infiltrate next, and how we would know about it. We tried to do some safeguarding to that end, but it wound up being futile, because the Doctor was putting most of his efforts into protecting Martha, and hadn't fully considered himself."

"He _never_ considered that he might be next?" Clive asked. "Isn't the Doctor the objective of this… Epi-whatsit?"

"Yes, but…" Donna sighed. "It's hard to explain. He considered it, it's just… we weren't sure quite what to do about it, and…"

She looked at Martha for help, but Martha had nothing to offer. She simply sighed heavily, and Donna was reminded that Martha's day carried with it more emotion than just the mere question of vanquishing an alien. Her emotional (and physical) involvement in this whole episode made it all _very_ real.

"How to safeguard me, apparently, presented an answer," Martha said meekly. "And the Doctor is selfless. He'll give anyone else the resources to defend themselves, before taking the resource for himself."

"What did he give you?" Tish wondered.

"Hard to explain," Martha answered.

"All right," Tish said, reading her sister's expression. "So, where is he now? And what's next?"

"He's tied up in my room upstairs," Martha answered. "For now. And the objective for the next day or so is to keep him away from the TARDIS. If it gets inside, it'll use the Doctor's thoughts and memories to travel, and once that happens, there will be nothing we can do. The Epidromeas will have control, basically of all of Time and Space, not to mention the Doctor's person. And the Doctor, as we know him, will be gone."

"Where _does_ he go when the Epidromeas is in charge?" Donna wondered. "His consciousness, I mean."

"I don't know," Martha said. "Maybe he's still in there, but just squished into a corner of his own mind."

"So step one, we defend the TARDIS…" Tish said.

"We?" Martha asked.

"And step two, we figure out how to make it leave the Doctor's body." Tish summed up. "But how do you make any living vessel more appealing than a Time Lord?"

"Tish, you don't have to stay here and play Red Rover with an alien foe," Martha said, picturing the six of them standing, holding hands, keeping a barrier between the the Epidromeas and the TARDIS. "Don't you have reservations for a guided nature hike?"

"Nadine can still take Keisha," Leo told her. "They should be far away from all this rubbish, anyhow. I'll just ring her up and let her know… something with the Doctor, there's danger, et cetera."

"Besides, honey, we're not about to leave you and Donna to fight off that fiend on your own!" Francine told her daughter.

"Mum, when you say, _fiend_ , you mean…" Martha began.

"I mean the thing that has the Doctor," Francine snapped. "Good grief."

Martha laughed. "So, we're all going to sit here in the basement and… wait? And stare him down when he gets here? _Thou shalt not pass!"_

"Sure, why not?" asked Clive, now moving through all the stored furniture, toward the TARDIS. "Has anyone got any playing cards?"

"Wait, what do we do if the Doctor doesn't show?" Leo wondered, following his father, with the rest of the party behind him.

"Let's give him an hour, and if he's not down yet, Martha and I will go up and check on him," Donna suggested.

"Better yet, we put a sentry post at his door," Leo countered. "I'll volunteer."

"To sit in the hallway of a resort hotel?" Martha asked. "People will call security on you."

"Then I'll sit inside the door," he shrugged.

"Okay, well, Leo, if you're going to do that," Francine said. "You're going to need a weapon. Donna, does the TARDIS have an armoury?"

"No!" Martha shouted. "No weapons. That's still the Doctor's body!"

"Well, how about just a Cricket bat or something?" Leo asked.

"I don't know about an armoury," Martha said. "But the TARDIS does have an equipment shed for sport… things. Apparently the Doctor used to be really into Cricket."

"I know where that is!" Donna chirped. "I'll go get you a bat. Hang on, just a tic!"

With that, Donna disappeared inside the TARDIS.

"Meanwhile," Tish said. "What do the rest of us do?"

"We'll have to put our heads together, and work out how to vanquish the Epidromeas," Martha told her. "Because Tish hit the nail on the head when she asked, how do you make _anything_ more attractive than a Time Lord, to a thing that wants power over the universe?"

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Please review, and I'll love you forever!**


	21. Chapter 21

**The entire Jones family, and Donna Noble, have gathered in the hotel basement, and are prepared to defend the TARDIS! And by extension, the Doctor. The current plan is for Leo to keep the Doctor contained in Martha's hotel room, until Martha and Donna (and the others?) can think of a way to vanquish the alien foe. But he's going to need a somewhat benign sort of weapon, in order exert any authority... a cricket bat, perhaps?**

* * *

TWENTY-ONE

As it turned out, neither Donna nor Martha was _that_ certain of where the sport equipment was stored in the TARDIS. The inner labyrinth had proven unnavigable, it was tempting to think, by design.

Clive, Leo, Francine and Tish checked around the storage area in the basement of the hotel, just to make sure there was nothing they could use as a blunt weapon against the Doctor. Or, rather, against the alien currently occupying the Doctor's body. Unfortunately, though, the main area only had furniture.

"Anything?" asked Francine, as Tish waded through the back of the caged-in area that housed gardening tools. They'd been hoping the TARDIS was obscuring something useful.

"Well, some shovels, power tools, and clippers," Tish called out. "So, unless we want to kill him…"

"Damn," Francine sighed. "And all that's on this side are those planters – too heavy to move – and… seeds and dirt."

They had earlier inspected a large panel of plastic drawers, and discovered that all 36 compartments were home to flower and plant seeds, and some soil samples.

"Wait, here's some weed killer," Tish said. "In a big, giant spray container. Think that would work?"

Martha stepped out of the TARDIS just then, with an empty expression on her face.

"No luck?" her mother asked.

"I swear, the layout in there changes every time I try to find something," Martha answered. "Donna wanted to keep searching…"

This business had been going on for about a half-hour when the door between the storage room and the basement corridor opened. The Joneses were across the room now, and could only see the silhouette of the man who had opened the door.

But his height, build, and hair were unmistakable.

Martha approached him, pushing aside the different pieces of furniture in her way. "Hello, Doctor," she chirped. "I see you wriggled free of our clever ensnarement."

"Yes, I did. It was not difficult."

"No, indeed. So… how are you? Are you good?" she asked, in an ironic, cheerful voice.

"I'm fine. You know me, Martha. I am the Doctor."

"Oh, sweetheart," Martha sighed. "Aren't we a bit past that, now?"

There was a long silence while the Doctor's very foreign eyes penetrated hers. Then, he said, "I'm not interested in you. I'm interested only in this body, and that TARDIS." And with that, he began to walk forward toward the Police Box.

Martha hopped into his path. "Seriously? Were you not there, the last time you tried to get in and got knocked out and tied up? Do you really think we're going to let you anywhere near that box, mate? I mean, before, it was just me and Donna, but now, there's six of us. And my dad here, he's a plucky fighter. Well you wouldn't know this, but he only _looks_ well-ordered and suburban."

"Thanks, love," Clive said, not sure which part of this statement to take as a compliment… if any.

Again, the thing in the Doctor's body seemed to contemplate her.

Martha sighed, after a time, and asked, "What is it you want, exactly? I mean, I know, the Doctor knows all about Time and Space, and flying the TARDIS, the soul of the cosmos, the fire, the ice, the rage, et cetera, et cetera. But what do you want _that_ for? If the Doctor can be believed, all that stuff is a burden. That kind of prescience, that kind of power… it's _got_ to be more trouble than it's worth."

And this was not the first time Martha had had that thought.

The alien narrowed the Doctor's eyes and scrutinised Martha even more closely. "Humans," it spat contemptuously.

"Yeah, what about us?"

"You will see," it said. And as it spoke exceedingly slowly over the next ten seconds or so, its voice changed. It no longer sounded like the Doctor, but more like a masked transmission, like the deep voice of a kidnapper making his ransom call. "As you cede to the needs of your betters, you will see."

A chill ran down Martha's spine, and suddenly she felt acutely on-alert. This _thing_ talking to her, it was real, it was right in front of her, and it knew all about her and her family.

Thankfully, it did not know everything about her relationship with the Doctor… the most "traumatic" bit of that saga was inaccessible just now, to the malevolent alien. She hoped this meant he could not use it against her, nor blurt it out in front of her parents.

All of these thoughts ran through her mind in less than a second, and nothing showed on her face. In response to the alien's super-creepy declaration, she asked, "See what?"

Martha had seen time after time in her travels with the Doctor, if you can get the bad guy talking, you not only learn their plans, but it buys you time to hatch a plan of your own. Hopefully.

"See your fate," it told her. "See your folly. Your insignificance. You will see your true place in the grand scheme, and the Aftokra Galaxy will rise."

"Okay, here we go," she said under her breath, channeling the Doctor just a bit. "This is good, keep talking, I'm learning."

"Sol 3 is one of the biggest jokes of the cosmos," it said in its creepy, gravelly voice.

"Sol 3," Martha said. "Okay, with you there. That's the designation for planet Earth… amongst whom?"

"The Galactic Council," the thing said, with contempt. "They would have the rest of us deprived, in foolish deference to the Doctor and his even more foolish claim that Sol 3 contains intelligent life."

"So, I take it you disagree with that policy."

"It is of no consequence whether or not I agree, in truth. What is of consequence is our space fleet."

"And that means _what_ to us Sol 3-lings?" Martha asked. "And what's it got to do with the fact that you're committing history's most insane identity theft?"

Martha was acutely aware that at this point in the dialogue, the Doctor would most likely have already made the connection between the Epidromeas' space fleet and what it has to do with "Sol 3," and why, oh why, they would want _his_ body, knowledge and transport.

The alien studied her, then suddenly, it squeezed its eyes shut and seem to wince, as if in pain.

"What's that, then?" she asked it. "Are you all right, mate?"

"I'm fine."

"If you've got a migraine or something, you'd better tell me," she said. "I'll not have you damaging that body you're in, or that brain. We need the Doctor back intact."

It laughed. "Oh, Martha Jones," it said, in its evil, cartoon-villain way. "The Doctor is never coming back."

"Okay, if you say so," she said. "So, what harm could it do, then, to tell me? What's going on with your space fleet, and what are you doing on Earth? I mean, your evil, evil plans… what could _we_ do about them, eh? Six humans armed with, what, weed killer? Really."

The thing shook the Doctor's head, and crossed his arms. "Level four brains, for sure."

Then, again it winced, this time much more noticeably. It shut its eyes tight once again, then seemed to shake off whatever came over it.

Not one detail of this escaped Martha's notice, of course.

* * *

Donna gave up searching for the equipment storage unit shortly after Martha did, but it took her a lot longer to find her way back to the console room. When she and Martha had been skulking about the corridors together, and Martha had suggested that the layout changes according to the TARDIS' whim, Donna had dismissed the idea.

Now, she wasn't so sure.

After a half-hour, and much cursing, she wandered back into the TARDIS' main control area, shouting "About bloody time! You know, of all days for you to muck about with me…"

She made a straight line for the door, expecting to step into the hotel's storage space and announce to the Jones family that a cricket bat was, unfortunately, not to be found in the TARDIS.

Instead, as got close to the door, she heard a voice, and stopped short. It was a voice of incredibly low-pitch, and sounded a bit like the scrambled recording of a witness to a crime, who wanted to remain anonymous on TV.

She had the horrible feeling that the voice was that of the alien, who was now speaking eerily through the Doctor. A peek through the doors, as she opened them just a smidge, confirmed this for her. The Doctor's body, suit, hair, shoes and face, with a bone-chilling electronic voice coming out of it… she shuddered.

And she listened as Martha had a brief conversation with it. She noticed Martha's very Doctor-like tactics, and smiled. _That's it, get the alien talking_ …

When the Epidromeas claimed that the Doctor was never coming back, Martha very smartly asked, "What harm could it do, then, to tell me? What's going on with your space fleet, and what are you doing on Earth? I mean, your evil, evil plans… what could _we_ do about them, eh? Six humans armed with, what, weed killer? Really."

This reminded Donna of something she'd forgotten about in the last hour since the last time they'd had a standoff with the Doctor. She'd had an idea then, of how, possibly to keep him from getting into the TARDIS…

And then the alien said to Martha, "Level four brains, for sure."

And this reminded Donna of something she'd heard way back on that first night when she'd re-found the Doctor, in the Adipose plant…

Martha was trying to work out the Epidromeas' plan, and what it had to do with "Sol 3," and it had called her a "level four."

The wheels were turning now… she still didn't know how it was all connected, but…

Suddenly, seemingly without warning, there was a scuffle outside. She heard metal chairs clanging to the floor, grunts from men, cries from women.

She chanced to open the door a smidge and saw Clive trying to pull the alien-Doctor off of Leo, who was lying on his back. The thing stood up and turned its attention to Clive, who took two or three blows to the jaw. Donna winced, reckoning that Clive could little afford to take _another_ beating so soon after his barroom brawl the other night.

"Oi! Spaceman!" Donna cried out, throwing the door fully open.

The Doctor's eyes became fixed on her, the alien inside seeming to suddenly remember that the TARDIS was its primary objective.

She left the door halfway ajar, and ran up the ramp.

"Donna! What the hell are you doing?" Martha shouted.

The thing left Clive alone, and ran for the TARDIS.

Donna stumbled to the console, and punched the blue button that put up the hard shell, and turned the chrome dial all the way back to the left, covering only the TARDIS itself.

But it was too late. The thing had got inside, just before the barrier went up… but so had Martha.

They slammed the door behind them as the lights went out, and the TARDIS powered down to conserve energy.

The console room was completely dark, except for a small green flicker coming from the Time Rotor, and some sparkly points of light between the gadgets on the console.

And for a few moments, the only sounds were Martha's parents pounding on the door outside.

"Martha! What the hell are you thinking?" her mother's voice asked, penetrating the dark.

"Come out, sweetheart! You too, Donna! Get away from that thing!" called Clive.

They could hear Tish and Leo on the background, yelling similar things.

Martha gave the door one big _thump_ from the inside with the side of her fist, and the din died down. "Stop yelling! Please!" she begged them. "Let us handle this! Just stand by, in case we need you."

"Martha…" her mum protested.

"Mum, we can't let it have the TARDIS! Do you know what kind of damage it could do? He's got all of the Doctor's power now, and _none_ of his compassion, all right? You've seen what happens when a Time Lord goes rogue, so just trust me!"

Martha heard her mother groan, "Oh, God," outside. It was the sound of fear, and it hurt her to hear. But she could no more leave the TARDIS now than she could have left the Earth to rot under the Master's thumb.

But for now, all was silent, in and around the TARDIS.

The Doctor's silhouette circled the console, and Donna and Martha could faintly see him sauntering, hands in pockets. If they didn't know better, they would have just assumed it was him, the Time Lord himself, admiring the TARDIS controls as he often does, being cool, as he often is. But, seeing such a familiar sight, and knowing that such an unfamiliar mind and soul lay inside… it was chilling.

"It's all right, Old Girl," the thing said to the TARDIS, as his hand reached out to touch the edge of the console. The creepy alien voice had gone, and the Epidromeas was now using the Doctor's vocal cords again. "I know you're feeling strained. It's that clever, clever Donna, thinks she can fool me by punching one little button… making me think you've powered down somehow. But she seems to have forgotten that, like Martha just said, I have the Doctor's memories and knowledge…"

"Damn it," Donna breathed.

"…and I know exactly how to make you go," he finished.

Through the darkness, the two women could see the thing grab its head, yet again, and stop moving, presumably to manage pain.

"What's wrong with it?" Donna whispered to Martha.

"I don't know, he's been doing that since he came downstairs," Martha answered, concern in her voice. "If that thing does any damage to the Doctor's brain…" She trailed off, unsure of how to finish that sentence. In fact, she had no idea what she would do if the Doctor's body and mind didn't come back as they were.

They both sighed in the dark, as the alien shook off the pain and continued to move about the console.

"Now, hold on," Donna said, making her way up the ramp. Martha followed. "Think about what you're doing, mate."

"I've thought about it. And I like it," he answered.

"Do you really think you can get away with this?" she asked, clearly stalling for time. "Think about all the checks and balances in the universe… things that keep _you_ in check, and have always kept the Doctor himself from going off the rails."

"Like what? The Galactic Council? The Shadow Proclamation?"

"As for example," Donna said.

The thing laughed, with it's deep non-Doctor voice. "Fools."

"So you've said," Martha sighed. "But as merely primitive humans, we don't know what that means."

"Wait! I do!" Donna said, standing up very straight.

Martha and the alien both looked at her with surprise. "You do?"

"Earth is a level-five planet," Donna said. "It's protected by Galactic Law."

"Currently, yes," said the thing, again, using the Doctor's voice.

"I'm guessing, since you've just told Martha that she has level-four brains and made a bunch of noise about how everyone's stupid to think that humans qualify as intelligent life, that a planet's 'level' designation is something to do with the intelligence-level of its primary species."

The Epidromeas crossed the Doctor's arms over his chest, and frowned. Though, no-one said anything in response.

"If a level-five planet is protected by Galactic Law," Martha said. "Does that mean, a level-four planet is not?"

"That's kind of what I'm thinking," Donna answered, with a bit of mischief in her voice. "I know for a fact that _seeding_ a level-five planet is against Galactic Law. Using, literally, _human resources_ for another planet's gain, that is. So what other resources are illegal to take from us, eh?"

"Maybe… something that helps out your space fleet?" Martha suggested. "Something from which you can manufacture fuel, maybe?"

The alien narrowed his eyes, and looked at both of them with contempt. Its expression was barely visible in the extremely low light, but they saw it.

"Ooh, we've got him," Donna said, with awe in her voice. "And we didn't even need the Doctor!"

Martha smiled. "You said that the Powers that Be in the universe, they keep the Earth's level-five distinction in deference to the Doctor. So, I think you're planning to use the Doctor's influence to get Earth reduced to level-four status, so you and the rest of the Epidromeas Crew can strip mine, or something. Decimate our planet of its… what? Fossil fuels? Water, maybe? Animal life? Oxygen? I don't know… what does your space fleet require to run? Well, the Doctor would know."

The two women gazed across the darkness at the Doctor's tall form, both wondering if the Doctor was actually anywhere inside it. It gazed back for a long few moments, then said, in a very Doctor-like manner, "Well, it doesn't matter. Just because you _know_ what I'm going to do, it doesn't mean you can stop me."

"So, what're you gonna do? Just pick up the phone and call the Galactic Council and just _ask_ them to change the status of Sol 3?" Martha asked.

"Course not," the Doctor's voice said. "I'm going to have to go to HQ and file a motion, then sit through a few days of hearings. But the way that Council, and the Shadow Proclamation, toady after the Doctor, I'm sure I'll be able to convince them. Just gotta go through the right channels."

"Well, we're not leaving the TARDIS, mate," Donna said. "So you're going to have to tie us up, if you want us not to interfere."

The thing laughed, again, with the creepy alien voice. "I don't need you to _leave_ the TARDIS, ladies. I can dematerialise this thing, without you in it. Did you _really_ think you could stop me with this stupid blue button? And/or by _sticking with me_? Come on!"

With that, the alien turned toward the console and punched the blue button, which, rightfully, should have made the lights come back on, and the controls power up.

But it didn't.

He punched it again.

The TARDIS interior remained dark.

The alien winced audibly, and doubled over forwards, grabbing the Doctor's head. This time, it gave a painful cry.

"Oh, no," Donna groaned, sarcastically. "The TARDIS has locked you out. And now you've got a migraine. Pity."

* * *

 **Aww, poor evil alien. What say you? ;-) Leave me a review, and thanks so much for reading!**


	22. Chapter 22

TWENTY-TWO

Martha's pulse had been pounding, pretty much ever sitting down to breakfast that morning. The shock of seeing her parents at her "morning after" date with the Doctor, followed by hearing the Doctor say he couldn't remember anything about their night together, had not helped her blood pressure. Next, realising that the Doctor's cluelessness was not merely a symptom of being an arsehole, but one of having had his mind and body overtaken by a malevolent alien force… this had set her on a path to a cardiac event.

Then, alongside Donna, being attacked by him, transporting him, and trying to face him down before he got to the TARDIS…

She'd tried to keep her head, play it cool, focus on sussing out the details. But even with her family nearby, it had been _terrifying._

And only now that _something_ had gone her way -the TARDIS had shut him out - and she had two seconds to breathe, was she now seeing it in all of its hideous glory.

This situation was pretty fucked up.

And it wasn't so much the fact that she and Donna alone were trying to fight off a monster who wants to ravage the Earth… she had done that on her own before (though, at least with a directive from the Doctor). It wasn't so much the fact that the two of them were flying almost completely blind in this matter, with next to no knowledge of the alien foe, without the option of calling in the big gun for help. Though, this was quite frightening and daunting.

Mostly, it was the fact that if things continued as they were, the Doctor was gone. A man who had saved the human race countless times, trouble-shot the cosmos on a regular basis, was the only one who knew how the secrets of the universe and its life forms were connected… he was gone.

 _The man she loved_ was gone.

And not just gone, but his consciousness was perhaps squished inside his own body. She and Donna were forced to see his face, hear his voice, recognise the Doctor's walk, his hair, his clothes, most things that were unique (and a lot of things that were attractive) about him… but acting with a stranger at the helm. The Doctor was a shell, and the only thing to be seen inside was something dark. It looked down on them as inferior. It wanted to pillage their planet.

Though, for now, it seemed as though it would not get to, because the TARDIS would not have it, not to mention the increasingly intense headache it seemed to experience every few minutes.

The respite she felt as a result was short-lived, though. Now, she watched the thing in the Doctor's body circle the console a few times, punching buttons, trying levers, flicking switches, to no avail. It was growing more and more agitated, it was beginning to give cries of frustration that grew louder and louder.

As she watched, and thought about the horror of what she was seeing, she also selfishly realised that she may never know for sure whether the sexy, sun-kissed events of yesterday, and especially last night, were _only_ a means to an end for the Doctor. Or could it have been, perhaps, also meant to indicate the beginning of something new for them? Only about an hour ago, Donna had tried to convince her that the Doctor's feelings were very non-Platonic; Martha was dubious. But Donna had made a strong case.

" _D_ _o you really think that if he_ _traumatised_ _you simply as a means to an end, that it would have been traumatic enough_ _for him_ _to have it not be accessible to the Epidromeas the next day?_ _Just_ _being with you_ _was at least as much of a big deal to him, as it is to you. The proof is in the alien who's now walking around in his body, and can't remember any of it,"_ she had said.

And indeed, she might have been right, but Martha really needed just to talk to the Doctor. But the way things were going, that might never happen. She'd never get to go further with him, see what else he had in him, experience him again, as…

Though, that train of thought was cut short when a sledgehammer hit the railing beside where she was standing. Which was almost a blessing.

"Martha!" Donna shrieked. After silence momentarily fell, she asked, "All right?"

"I'm fine," Martha said, instinctively having dropped to the floor. Donna had done likewise.

The Doctor had three hammers, in three different sizes, that hung from the console, in case of an emergency (read: in case he couldn't work out how else to fix a console-related problem). The other two went flying as well, as the alien became incensed that it could not force the TARDIS to bend to its will.

Both women crawled to the back side of the passenger's seat, hoping it would shield them from whatever else was bound to go flying. As the alien continued to let out a series of angry growls and screams, next to be thrown were three cords that had been coiled up and tossed to the floor, a metal travel mug that Donna had left on the console, and a decorative ceramic hen (which shattered on impact with the TARDIS' inner wall). None of it was being hurled _at them_ , necessarily, just uncomfortably _near_ them.

"Martha! Are you two all right?" they heard Clive Jones call from the outside. "Martha!"

"We're okay, Dad!"

When the Epidromeas had nothing else to pitch at the wall, it stopped, panted, fixed its eyes on the shadows of Martha and Donna, who were crouched behind the jump seat, and demanded, loudly, "Make the lights come back on! Make it let me in!"

"We can't!" Donna called out. "We don't know how. You're the one with the Time Lord mojo now – _you_ work it out!"

"It's locked me out, you dizzy cow!" he screamed back at her.

"Yeah… after eight hundred years travelling together, do you really think the TARDIS wouldn't realise that you're not him?"

"And that you want to use her to do naughty things?" Martha chimed in.

The thing circled the console in a mighty huff. After a few tense moments, it yelled, "Well, this state of affairs is unacceptable! It's all useless!"

"You mean, having a Time Lord's brain and body, without a TARDIS?" Martha asked, with a sarcastic sweetness. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Gee, didn't see _that_ coming."

"And being stuck on this pathetic rock of a planet," it muttered, still circling the console.

"You've got his memories and knowledge, but face it: you've suppressed the Doctor," Martha reminded it still crouching behind the chair with Donna. "Without him, you're buggered. So are we all. This was _never_ going to work, mate."

"You know she's right, don't you?" Donna said, getting to her feet, and moving round to the front of the chair. She sat down. "Without the TARDIS, you can't win. And I'll bet you dollars to donuts, every override code the Doctor's got stored away in that great big brain… none of them will work."

The Doctor's alien eyes penetrated the darkness. "So, just what are you suggesting, Donna Noble?" it asked, silkily. "That I accept defeat, go away and leave you all alone? Ha! Nice try!"

"No, I'm not suggesting that," Donna answered, waving away the comment. "I'm not daft, for God's sake. I'm saying, you don't have the Doctor and you don't have the TARDIS. And you won't have access to the TARDIS unless you bring back the Doctor."

"How the hell do I do that?"

"Be at the Doctor's side," Donna explained. "Rather than in his head. Trust me, it's a much better deal."

Martha stood up now. "Yes, it is," she said, looking at Donna meaningfully. "If he knows you've got one of us hostage, he'll do whatever you ask."

The thing looked at the two of them contemplatively, and they could see and feel the wheels turning behind the cold, dark eyes. But, suddenly the strain seemed too much for it, because it grabbed the Doctor's head, once again, doubled over in pain, and screamed out a high-pitched curse.

Martha took a step forward. "Okay, enough of that. What the hell _is_ it, anyway? Why do you keep acting like someone's chiselling through your brain?"

Still bent at the waist, bracing its hand against its knees, the thing looked at Martha with contempt. Even in the incredibly dim light, she could see this much. "Humans. You and your primitive fucking brains."

Donna sighed loudly. "Oh, here we go again."

"I'm not joking, mister," Martha scolded. "If you do _anything_ to damage that body or that brain permanently, I will have you banished to the midpoint of the Condensate Wilderness – don't think I can't. Now what the hell is happening inside that head?"

"Pain," it spat at her. "Intense pain."

"Well, I can see that much, thank you," she responded, with an eyeroll. "I _am_ a doctor, myself, you know. But _why,_ with the pain?"

"I don't know, do I? If I did, I would make it stop!"

"Has it ever happened before?" Martha asked, switching somewhat into physician mode. "When you were in someone else's body – my dad's, or my mum's, or my sister's."

The thing thought for a moment. "No."

"And I've never known the Doctor to have migraines, or anything like that, have you?" she asked Donna.

"No," Donna answered, somewhat surprised by the question.

"Then it's something to do with you, and specifically _the Doctor's_ brain," she speculated. "Or his brain chemistry?"

"Well, clearly," it growled.

Martha sighed. "Oh, dear."

 _That can't be good,_ she thought. Even if this thing can endure the pain, find a way to cope with it or suppress it, what would that do to the Doctor's brain, if this kept going? And would that mean that the Epidromeas would then hop into someone else, and they'd have to work out whom? Or just leave, and lie in wait, to regroup?

What they needed was the Doctor back in his body, and the Epidromeas contained, somewhere they could find it. They couldn't risk it escaping, and putting them all right back at square-one.

She then took a few steps forward, and chanced to help the thing stand up. She took hold of its shoulders, and gulped down a sob, at how familiar the fitted polyester suit felt, as well as the shape of his muscle and bone, the smell of him, even…

With a deep, ragged breath, she helped him to lean against the console. She did not take her hands off him, looked him in the eyes, because she wanted him to listen.

"You've been living in the Doctor's body for what? An hour and a half? Already, you've got increasing, searing pain, that incapacitates you each time it strikes. Even if, by some miracle, you could get the TARDIS to do your bidding, when you go before the Galactic Council, you'll have, what? Two minutes to make your case, before doubling over in pain? Won't they want to scan you or something? And won't it be wicked obvious that you're not the Doctor?"

"Maybe," it answered, grudgingly.

"Whatever the reason for it, it sounds to me like humans are easier to inhabit," Martha pointed out.

"So the reasons to take _me_ instead… twofold," Donna said.

"No, no," Martha protested, panicking on the inside, at hearing Donna offer herself up. Before she could think it through, she said, "It should be me."

"Martha…"

"I travelled with the Doctor for a full year, plus the Year that Never Was," Martha reasoned. "Donna's only been with him, like, two or three months. Their bond is not that strong."

"Martha, don't!" Donna said. She walked up and whispered, "Don't do this! You walked away, and with good reason. You've already sacrificed a year of your life... Let me take this on, now."

"Donna, shush."

"You can't do this!"

"I can!"

"Enough," said the thing, looking back and forth at both of them. He looked squarely at Donna and said, "The Doctor values you deeply. You are like no companion he's ever had. He values your honesty, your bravery, your special brand of intelligence, your loyalty."

Donna had no idea what to say. She was, paradoxically, touched, but did not want to be emotive with the alien inside the Doctor's body, so she remained silent.

Then it looked at Martha. "But you…" it said, its breathing growing slightly more laboured, with the added emotion. "He values all those things in you, as well, but it's not just here, in his head… it's in his guts and chest. It's a weird sensation when I look at you… like thunder. Thunder and lightning all contained in one body, plus feeling vulnerable like a flower."

"It's called _love_ , you git!" Donna cried out. "Are you _that_ much of an intergalactic moron that you don't know what love is?"

Martha's jaw dropped. Like Donna a few moments ago, she had no idea how to respond.

"Yes," the thing said lightly, still studying Martha. "That's the word I see now, too… love. He's _in love_ with you. He's been in love with you for a long while. That's clear, like how to use the Precision Toggle on the console, and the layout of the TARDIS' library."

After a long silence, Donna mused, "Blimey. He can feel the Doctor's love inside, but doesn't even know what it means."

"Yes, I do," said the thing. With that, it closed its eyes, held its breath for about ten seconds. The room seemed stiller than usual, as if all of the sound in the universe had been sucked out, through this space.

Time seemed to suspend, though everyone in the room could feel and see, and was aware of things happening...

And when the Doctor's eyes opened, he stood up straight, and his eyes darted round the room, before falling on Martha.

Her eyes now looked around the room as well, though with a large measure of confusion. When she finally made eye-contact with the Doctor, she seemed startled. Then her eyes narrowed, and she seemed to contemplate him quite deeply.

"Doctor," she whispered, almost with amazement.

He took a deep breath and looked her over. "Oh, Martha," he sighed, then grabbed Donna's hand, and stumbled with her out the TARDIS' door.

* * *

 **Reviews are love. :-D What are you thinking now?**


	23. Chapter 23

**When we last saw Martha Jones, she was in the console room, having been newly infiltrated by the malevolent Epidromeas. The Doctor had grabbed Donna's hand and run out of the TARDIS.**

 **The story is starting to wind down now...**

 **We know this because the Doctor gets all emotional and threaten-y... hope you like this chapter! :-D**

* * *

TWENTY-THREE

"Whoa, now, where do you think you're going?" Francine Jones said, stepping into the Doctor's path as he exited the TARDIS with Donna. Her voice shook a bit, but she was steadfast.

The Doctor only barely registered Francine's presence, and turned to face the blue box with a melancholy stare. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and sighed.

Ever the buffer, Donna touched Francine's arm comfortingly, then asked, "Doctor? Is it you?"

"Yeah," he whispered.

"It's him?" Francine asked Donna.

Donna nodded at her subtly, still not taking her eyes off the Doctor.

"Then, where's the thing? The alien?" asked Tish.

"Shh," Leo lulled, putting his arm around her. "I think we all know the answer to that."

"Oh God!" Francine exclaimed, then began to cry. She buried her face in Clive's chest to hide her tears.

"It's all right," Clive lulled. "It's had us all at some point, and it's let us go."

"And," Donna added, "We've got the Doctor back now. He can get rid of it for good, and save Martha too. Can't you?"

"Why isn't coming after me?" the Doctor asked, rather ignoring the original question.

There was silence for a few moments, then Donna asked, "Well, what's the last thing you remember?"

"Breakfast," he said.

"Okay, sometime during breakfast, you became possessed," she said. "You gave Martha a bleeding ulcer, then tried to break into the TARDIS. We knocked you out, and you tried again. I did attempt to keep you out using that hard shell thingie, but you were too fast. And… when I say _you_ , of course, I mean…"

"I know what you mean," he finished. "But… how did it give Martha ulcers?"

Donna stepped up very close. Barely moving her lips, she explained, "It's about a certain _trauma_ that you appeared to be blowing off as nothing special, and do you really want to talk about this here and now?"

"She told you?"

"Of course."

He groaned, and ran his palm down over his face. Still basically whispering, he exclaimed, "Damn it. It possessed _me_ , not her, and then forgot about… the trauma. Didn't see _that_ coming. Why didn't I see that coming?"

"Preoccupied. Can't be in all places at once, et cetera, et cetera."

"Yeah."

"How'd you get the thing to leave the Doctor alone?" Tish asked, bringing the Doctor and Donna, or at least their attention, back into the room. "I mean, I was wondering how _any_ living vessel could be more appealing than you, to a thing that wants dominion over time and space."

"Actually, it turns out that it doesn't want dominion over time and space, exactly," Donna said. "Although I would imagine, that bit is a bonus, and it probably wouldn't hesitate to use its Doctorly powers to wreak unholy havoc."

"What does it want, then?" the Doctor asked.

"It wants to use your influence to get Sol 3 demoted to level-four status."

The Doctor's face scrunched up, and he turned around to face Donna squarely. His tone brightened and his demeanour changed, as he exclaimed in disbelief, "What? Why? So they can mine your fossil fuels for their failing fleet? Wow, that's a lot of f-words… and wow, that sounds dodgy. I mean, don't they know that this planet's fossil fuels are, frankly, failing faster than their fleet?"

"That was… ridiculous," Donna commented.

"I know, but once I started with the alliteration, I couldn't stop," he said, quite quickly.

"Yep, you're back," she sighed.

"The point is, I would guess that _is_ why they'd be interested in scavenging on Earth – their space fleet is in a very bad way. They use fuel with a similar composition to the fuel used for your cars and planes and heating and stuff. Except, as you may have heard, Earth's resources of that sort are depleting, and new sources of energy are being sought, to that end. I should have thought that the Epidromeas would have done their homework before trying something like this! I mean, it did cross my mind before that fuel might be their objective, but I dismissed it, thinking they _must_ know that Earth isn't as rich in fossil fuels as they think. Frankly, I just thought they wanted me."

"Well, why don't we just tell it that the Earth doesn't have enough of what it wants, to make it worth the trouble?"

"It'll never believe it, it'll think we're lying to get rid of it," he said. Then his tone hardened drastically, and he began to pace the small space between the TARDIS and where the Jones family and Donna were standing in a crescent formation. "And call me a hopeless romantic, but I don't feel like standing around arguing with it, trying to _finesse_ it or reason with it. I'm bloody done with that. I want this thing _gone_ , do you lot hear me? It has finally pushed me too far. It has finally messed with the wrong person. I won't let it have Martha for one millisecond longer than necessary, and I don't like killing, but to get it away from her, I'll do what I have to do."

The Doctor saw Francine nodding emphatically, but he did not respond to her.

"How are you going to kill it, if it's in her body?" Donna asked. "Sorry, but… seems like a logistical nightmare."

"How did you get it to go into her body?" he asked. "What put it there? What would make the thing think that _Martha_ is more valuable than… ohhhh…" He stopped short and seemed to stare off into space.

"For a start, it was getting these intermittent migraines, we assumed, from being inside your head. We wondered if that was you, inside, chiseling out."

The Doctor spoke flatly. "Migraines, of course. Probably from the depth of memory, complexity of the DNA involved in mapping out my brain function."

"What?"

"I was backed into a corner. The only thing I had was thought and memory. And I was thinking hard, trying to get out, pining for everything I'd ever known. I must've overloaded it with nine hundred years' worth of brain labyrinth… pulling it down, and down."

"So, you just _wished_ really hard, and got your way?" she whined.

"No, because… isn't there another reason why it left me, Donna?"

"We convinced it that as long as it had you, the TARDIS would lock it out," Donna said, rather quietly.

"It thinks as long as it's got one of my friends by the throat, I'll take it wherever it wants to go," the Doctor mused.

"Yes," Donna confirmed. "And it, erm… well, it saw something inside of you… _felt_ something, really, that made it think that perhaps Martha might be a more valuable hostage than me."

The Doctor shifted his eyes to Donna, and seemed to bore holes into her with them.

"And that's why it's not coming after me now," he said, low and gravelly, glancing at the TARDIS door, knowing that the thing was inside, polluting Martha's body. "It's waiting for me to go in there and beg it to leave her alone. And then it can tell me what to do, or else it will have her always… or it will hurt her."

Tish asked gently, "I mean, what did the thing say to you, Donna? Why did it take Martha instead of you? I mean, I'm not saying I want you to be possessed, I'm just wondering…"

Watching the Doctor out of the corner of her eye, Donna said, a bit nervously, "It described feeling like there was thunder and lightning, storming inside of the body, whenever he looked at her."

"Donna, stop," the Doctor ordered with a whisper.

"And that, at the same time, it felt vulnerable like a flower," Donna continued.

"Please. Stop," he ordered again, this time a bit louder, more curt.

"That's what the thing saw, inside your mind?" Tish asked him.

"How should I know what it saw?" he asked, by way of an answer. Then he began to pace again, his voice switching once more into a harsher mode. "But it doesn't sound wrong. And now I'm more pissed off than ever! Aren't you lot pissed off? That it got inside you? It saw the world through your eyes, felt what you feel, remembered what you remember... well, more or less? Don't you feel _violated?_ "

The Joneses looked at each other. "Never thought about it that way," Clive answered for them.

"Of course you do!" the Doctor said, again, stopping. He spoke to Clive emphatically, and still, ridiculously quickly. "It may not know certain otherwise uncompromising truths about your life over the last day, two days, week. But it knows the _scope_ of your life, and now it has some idea of mine. It knows how you feel about things, and how I feel about things. It knows with unadulterated certainty what you think, what you want, and who you love. And now it knows those things about me, too!"

Donna stood nearby, eyes wide, waiting to find out what he would say next.

Still addressing Clive (but his face was so manic now, he could have been talking to the wall and not known it) the Doctor continued, "But now I think of it, knowing what I think, what I want, who I love… it has caused it to screw up! It thinks it can manipulate me by holding those things hostage, but _that_ is its fatal flaw, my friend! Oh yes! Because as I said, I don't like killing, but I would do it for her… and I wasn't bloody joking!"

By the end of this little oration, the Doctor's voice had reached a level of angry, ragged resolution, and _everyone's_ eyes were wide as saucers.

"Wow!" Donna cried out. "Now _that_ is what I call personal growth!"

The Doctor looked at her with a warning frown, and then scanned his eyes over the Jones family, seeming only now to realise what he had just confessed. It was like a light came on, and he realised it was all true – every word, for better or for worse, and he had just spilled it all over her family, in his haste to clear up this crisis.

He felt naked and scrutinised now, and all he wanted to do was turn back time, and take back everything he had just said. Not because he hadn't meant what he'd said, but because he didn't need everyone in the room in on it. Technically, Martha herself hadn't even heard it. Shouldn't he whisper it to her at the perfect passionate or serene moment? Instead, she was likely to hear the whole story from Tish or Leo, or even Donna, before he had a chance…

"All right! Brilliant! Sorted!" Clive said, pulling the Doctor out of his stupor. He slapped the Time Lord on the back, and asked, "Now, what are we going to do about it?"

The Doctor took a moment to think, and pace. But it was difficult to do so, even for him, just now…

Because, over the last few minutes, like a hot-blooded adolescent, he had allowed his mind to be clouded with thoughts of _her_ …

 _I love her, damn it. I. Love. Her. And now the world knows… how could I let that happen? And how could I not have known it? I mean, I'm pretty sure I knew it last night when I knocked on her door and when I was kissing her, and feeling her move and press against me, and listening to her moan… I mean, I do remember resolving to see this thing through, if she wanted. I knew I wouldn't let her 'lose,' in the end. But even at that, it was all about the_ trauma _, wasn't it? God, what an arse I was! And now I might never get the chance again… no, no, that can't be! I need her back! I can't let the planet nor Martha's fate fall to this thing, because I need to know what's next for us! I need to look into her eyes again, and know that it's_ her _looking back. I need to whisk her away again, see adventure in her eyes again, make love to her properly, and for God's sake, I need to actually wake up next to her…_

Panic rose steadily.

 _Martha's gone!_

 _For the love of Rassilon, Martha is gone! I will never see her again – not as I knew her, anyway - unless I do something about it now. Right now!_

And with that panic, something occurred to him, and he looked at his nervous audience with wide, alarmed eyes.

"What?" asked Donna.

"I think I might have a plan, and I'm going to need everyone's help," the Doctor announced, and handed the sonic screwdriver to Donna. "It's on setting 23039. You're going to need to know that, just in case it slips. And time, as always, will be of the essence."

* * *

The Doctor left the basement a half-hour later. He went up to the ground-level in the lift, and headed out the hotel doors toward the beach.

Approximately another half-hour passed, before Donna received a text message that said, "OK."

With that, Donna sauntered into the TARDIS, and said, "Hi."

"Bring the Doctor in."

"Why don't you just go get him? I thought you had powers of detection or some such."

"You mean he's not out there?" the thing asked, monumentally irritated now.

"Oddly, no."

The thing sighed. "Fine. You people make _everything_ so much harder than it needs to be." It closed Martha's eyes, and took a deep breath. It seemed to be listening for something. Then, it said, "I'm only getting a corrupted signal – the same one that brought me to this planet. Brought me nowhere."

"Well, then, you may have a while to wait, love."

"Already been waiting a bloody eternity," complained the thing in Martha's body. "Where is the Doctor?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you: he's absconded," Donna said. "I guess, you're getting a bit close for his taste. Hey, the lights are back on! How brilliant!"

The thing looked about the room and blinked a few times, quizzically. Then, it asked, "So tell me where the coward has absconded to. You know I'll find him sooner or later."

"Yeah, but he wants it to be later," Donna told it, whimsically, emphatically shrugging.

The alien laughed in Martha's child-like way. "This planet is tiny, and the Doctor is eminently findable."

"This planet may be tiny by your standards, but so is the Doctor, when he's on it. He's gonna be like a needle in a haystack," Donna told it with confidence.

The thing narrowed Martha's eyes at Donna. "So you're saying he's going to try and lose himself in humanity."

"I'm not saying anything. Why would I say such a thing? Then you'll just go searching the throngs of tourists around here…"

"And that's where I _should_ look? Are you trying to keep me from there?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna answer that question," Donna retorted with a deep eyeroll.

Martha's arms crossed, and her eyes scrutinised Donna. "No, that doesn't make any sense. This memory bank tells me, you're not an idiot. You wouldn't say something like _needle in a haystack_ to me just off-handedly, unguardedly, because it would actually cause me to go looking in the throngs of tourists. If that's where he was, you'd keep your mouth shut."

"If you say so. Look, Martha doesn't know how to fly the TARDIS – I'm sure you've already tried to find that out, and realised she's clueless as far as that goes. And the Doctor, who knows what he's got in mind? He may never be back, either."

"He'd never leave his TARDIS," said the thing.

"He would if he thought that coming back to it would endanger the Earth."

"What about his companions?"

"Sometimes he leaves," Donna shrugged. "It's been known to happen."

"Well, he's a fool," Martha's voice spat.

"I _act,_ on occasion, like I agree with that, but you know, the Doctor is actually ridiculously clever. So clever, it's blinding sometimes, and don't _ever_ tell him I said that."

The thing scoffed. "He thinks that by _absconding_ , and leaving me in this primitive body, he can escape me. That's not clever. That's the opposite of clever."

"Whatever. I don't care what you think of him, and _he_ cares even less."

The thing advanced on Donna, and even though it was in Martha's body, Donna had to fight the urge to retreat in her nervousness. She fought to stay calm, appear cool, and not run from the thing.

"I'll tell you what I _think_ ," it said, teeth clenched, right in Donna's face. "The coward needs to come back here, give himself up, be infiltrated by the Epidromeas!"

"Infiltrated?" Donna asked, genuinely confused. "But didn't you think that Martha was…"

"Yes, infiltrated! I will need his body, if I am to… accomplish my purpose."

"You mean, demoting the Earth to level-four status?"

The thing looked at her with contempt. "How did you know that?"

 _Wrong question. Why don't you know that I know? You're the one who told us, while you were… oh!_

A revelation came to her.

The thing doesn't know that it has already infiltrated the Doctor's body, and that it has already given up on that idea, because the TARDIS wouldn't have it, and because of debilitating headaches.

Seeing the Doctor possessed, violent and unhinged had been traumatic for Martha. Knowing that he was _gone_ had upset her more than she had let on, so much so that the Epidromeas could not now access that memory. It had lost all of the perspective, and knowledge it had gained while flitting about in the Doctor's guise. At least, for now.

 _The Doctor intuited this, in his anger over knowing that Martha was infiltrated! He must have had a moment of panic, and realised that Martha must have panicked in the same way. Clever, clever man._

And that was why his plan was going to work.

"Where is he?" the thing asked Donna, in clipped, hard tones.

"Why the hell should I tell you?"

"Because if you don't tell me… if the Doctor does not show himself to me in the next hour, I will throw this body off a cliff, do you understand me?"

* * *

 **Thank you for reading! A review would make my day!**


	24. Chapter 24

**This isn't the most exciting chapter in existence, but now, t** **he Doctor's plan goes into motion...**

 **Hope it leaves you wanting more, one way or the other. Enjoy!**

* * *

TWENTY-FOUR

The Epidromeas stepped out of the TARDIS angrily, and came face-to-face with Martha Jones' family. Donna stepped out after.

"Martha, sweetheart, listen to me…" Francine attempted, advancing upon a thing that looked like her daughter, as only a mother would attempt.

The thing stopped for a second, and studied Francine, unable to decide what to do next.

Then, it said, with very little evident humanity, "Mum, don't try to stop me. There is something I need to do."

Francine had known full well that her daughter was not her daughter at the moment, but she couldn't help it; she had come at the thing as though "Martha" could be reached within. But something in Martha's voice gave her pause. The voice was being used, clearly, by something foreign, malevolent, something that didn't know her at all.

Francine's eyes went wide, and she looked around at her family. Everyone's face was registering horror, sadness, concern, or some combination thereof.

"Let her go, Francine," Donna advised. "She can't be reasoned with. There's no Martha to be reached in there."

The thing turned toward Donna and gave her an angry look.

"What?" Donna asked it. "Did you really think _her mother_ wasn't going to realise you're not Martha? A mother is as sensitive as a TARDIS! These folks did not need me to tell them."

The Epidromeas cast its eyes over the Jones family, one by one, and spat, "You people are _ridiculous._ Level-four brains, parasitic existences… how does this planet function?"

"We manage," Clive said, with anxiety apparent in his voice.

"Whatever," the thing in Martha's body said. And it stalked between Tish and Leo, trying to get to the storage room door. It muttered as it went, "Ridiculous… humans… Doctor, thinks he can escape… ridiculous… ocean…" and then it was gone.

"Ocean?" Tish asked, panicked. "It knows where the Doctor is?"

"I was going to tell it eventually anyway," Donna said. "That was part of the plan, remember? And it gave me a _very_ good reason to tell it, so that it doesn't suspect it's actually walking into a trap. Actually, that bit worked out quite well."

"If the trap works," Leo said. "Sounds dodgy to me."

"That's only 'cause you're not needed," Tish quipped, elbowing him lightly.

"Trust the Doctor, Leo," Clive told him. "He wouldn't hatch a plan if he weren't sure."

"Actually, he would," Donna corrected. "But he's always right anyhow, which is just… maddening. But that's neither here nor there. The point is, the alien threatened to jump off a cliff if I didn't tell it where the Doctor was."

Francine let out a cry of anguish, and her hands threw to her mouth.

"It's okay, mum," Tish said. "It's headed off to find the Doctor. Donna gave it what it wanted."

* * *

A beautiful woman possessed by a malevolent alien presence made her way out of the hotel, and down the nearly half-mile of grassy hill toward the beach.

The Epidromeas searched the memory banks of Martha Jones as it made for the shore, realising that she was, in fact, a formidable partner to the Doctor. Moreover, she was someone who had a significant influence over the Doctor, and would undoubtedly try to hinder the Epidromeas' agenda with the Galactic Council. In spite of her primitive humanity, it seemed she had some cunning, and the determination to do it.

"Well," Martha Jones' voice said aloud, as her feet stepped off the grass, and onto the sand. The alien looked itself over, in the form of Martha's body. Hands, arms, torso, legs and feet. Brown skin, brightly-coloured clothing, rubber flip-flops on her feet. It mused, calmly, at the collective body parts, "You can't be left alive."

It turned Martha's head out to face the point where the ocean becomes sky. It knew, of course, that this was not the end of the ocean, not by a long shot. The water was vast – for humans, the vastness of the sea was almost unfathomable – and here it was, at the Epidromeas' disposal.

Forget throwing this body off a cliff. Right then and there, it decided, as soon as it had the Doctor's body, Martha Jones would meet with a watery death. It assumed that there would be a boat-related showdown later today, but eventually, it would succeed in finding, and getting its hooks into the Doctor. And when that happened… easy peasy. It had learned from its forays into the bodies of Francine, Clive, and Tish Jones that humanoid males tend to be much stronger than females… easy indeed.

Though, Donna Noble would be a harder case. It had no idea what Donna was like, really; it had no real sense of her intelligence, only what Martha Jones had observed. Ditto for her intentions, inner life, and her effect on the Doctor. Though, Martha seemed to think that Donna would not be someone who would gladly allow the demotion, and eventual pillaging, of the Earth. So, Miss Noble probably had to die too, but it would come later, and it wasn't immediately clear how one might dispose of the body…

…but first things first. None of this could be executed unless and until it could manage to locate the Doctor and gain access to his body. If Donna Noble could be believed, the Doctor was currently on a boat, heading over the horizon, hoping to get himself out of range of the Epidromean sentient sonar. If he could put the curvature of the planet between himself and the alien who wanted him, he could not be detected by the non-smart, non-penetrative (stolen) sonar. The thing had to get within a straight-line's range of the Doctor. Though, as of now, it had no idea in what direction the Time Lord had gone, and exactly how far he'd have got by now.

But, standing here wasn't going to accomplish anything. It needed a boat, and Martha's memory told him that one could be rented, fifty yards up the beach. It began to walk.

* * *

Once the thing in Martha's body had left the storage room in the hotel basement, Donna said, "All right, you lot. Everyone into the console room."

"This is so cool," Leo remarked, with a daft smirk on his face.

Everyone advanced toward the TARDIS, in a single line. Leo took up the rear, and his eyes lit up as he approached the blue box. When he got close, he inspected it on either side, and leaned out to verify that it did, indeed have a back which seemed to stand as a barrier, only a few feet from the front. And when he walked inside, the only present member of the family who had never been before, he stopped at the doorway, and gaped at what he saw. "This is fucking mental."

"Leo, language," Francine scolded rather off-handedly, still a bit taken aback by the TARDIS interior, herself.

Donna, Clive, Francine, Tish and Leo all gathered in the console room, at the top of the ramp. With that, Donna reached into her pocket and pulled out the Sonic Screwdriver.

"Now, what is that thing?" Leo asked, trying to clarify the dizzying flurry of instructions the Doctor had given the group.

"It's a sonic screwdriver," Donna told him, staring at the apparatus in her hand. She had never really touched it before, let alone _used_ it, let alone for a purpose that could save the life of someone she cared about, and/or the planet…

"Yeah," Leo said, slowly. "And what the hell does that mean?"

"It adjusts things, just like a screwdriver, but it does it with… soundwaves," she explained. "As I understand it, anyway."

"Adjusts things?"

"Yes," Donna told him. "It opens, it locks, it changes… sometimes it detects. It dampens, and as it will do today, it augments."

"So, if we're going to use that thing," Clive interjected. "Shouldn't we get to it?"

"Yep," said Tish. "Our collective time-anomalous energy is not going to augment itself."

"I'm sorry," Francine now chimed in. "I know that the Doctor is some kind of mad genius, and we've seen him save the world, and we've trusted him with our lives – and certainly with that of our daughter – and he's always come through. But all of this just sounds a bit… nebulous."

"Nebulous?" Donna asked.

"The word you're looking for is _insane_ ," Leo corrected, with a smile.

"Not insane, just…" Francine said, struggling. "I'm sorry Donna, but so much is hinging on this plan! Our daughter is out there somewhere, literally possessed by an alien, who, for some reason, can remember who we are, and who you are, but can't seem to recall anything about the last twenty-four hours of Martha's life. You said the thing has access to our memories…"

"Yes, but, there's a catch…" Donna began, not sure how she would explain Martha's double trauma, without alarming her parents, or ultimately embarrassing Martha.

"I mean, it's already been talked out of possessing the Doctor, and yet, now that it's in Martha's body, it wants to possess the Doctor again! I don't understand why, but that's neither here nor there. My biggest concern is that when it finds, and seizes, the Doctor, Martha might then be alone with it, on some boat, God Knows Where, in the Mediterranean!"

"This plan is supposed to keep it from finding the Doctor again," Donna said. "I thought you were clear on that."

"I was… I mean, I am," Francine sputtered. "But that's the nebulous part for me. My daughter's life might depend upon the existence of… what? Some type of _energy_ that clings to us all?"

"Yes," Donna confirmed. "Trust me – it exists."

"How do you know?"

"I trust the Doctor," Donna told her, trying not to get loud.

"Okay…" Francine sighed. "But how does _he_ know? And more importantly, how am I supposed to let this all go down the way it is, and follow the rules, when I can't actually _see_ how any of it is going to work, and my baby's life might be at stake? Donna, how?"

By the time she reached the end of this miniature tirade, there were tears in her eyes, and she was trembling nervously.

"She's just told you, sweetheart," Clive said to his wife, gently. "Trust the Doctor."

"Well," Francine sniffed at Donna. "Maybe that's easy for you, but you're not a mother. This is not the first time he has driven my child in to the gaping maw of something awful and…"

"It is _not_ easy for me," Donna corrected, with a hard, resolute (slightly loud) tone. "Someday, over a bottle of wine, Francine, I will tell you what I helped the Doctor do in Pompeii. I gave up my life, in a manner of speaking, because I trusted the Doctor, I trusted that what we were doing was the right thing. And blimey, it was a _wrench_ to do so, let me tell you, given the price. And though the Doctor was right, as always, and it was work worth doing, it was _awful_. I will have nightmares about it for the rest of my life. So don't presume to think you know what's easy for me, and what isn't."

"I'm sorry, I just don't know… I don't get how…" Francine conceded, her voice still quavering, her breath still shallow.

"Okay, that's another thing," Donna told her. "This is _not_ about you. And, the Doctor did _not_ drive Martha into anything awful – not this time. He would never. He loves her… or did you miss that little slice of our lives?"

Francine's eyes narrowed. "How so?"

"What? What do you mean _how so?"_

Tish put a shoulder between them, and said, "I think what my mother is so ungracefully asking is, how could it be said that the Doctor did not drive Martha into something awful this time? I mean, all evidence suggests that…"

"…this whole thing started when he got here?" Donna asked, annoyed, still with the hardened tone. "I'm so bloody sick of people thinking that! Correlation equals causation! Yeah, that's it! I mean, come on! In Pompeii, I get it, but Jesus! You people are clever!"

"Well, clearly, not clever enough, so tell us," Tish requested, calmly.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Now, how about a review? :-)**


	25. Chapter 25

**Martha Jones, possessed by an alien, has walked away from the hotel, toward the beach, looking for the Doctor, whom the alien believes to be out on a boat.**

 **Meanwhile, Francine Jones isn't sure of the Doctor's plan, and she and Donna are locking horns inside the TARDIS...**

* * *

TWENTY-FIVE

" _Le puedo ayudar_ , _querida?_ " asked a swarthy, long-haired man inside a kiosk on the beach.

 _Apparently, Martha Jones understands Spanish,_ the Epidromeas thought.

Then, it used her feet and legs to move forward and sidle up to the counter. Above, her head, there was a sign that said _Alquiler de botes,_ boat rental _._ "Yes," it said flatly, reaching into Martha's memory banks for the Spanish it needed. " _Necesito un bote_."

"Well, evidently," said the man, with a laugh, in English. "British eh? What type of boat?"

"One that goes on the ocean," said the alien.

The man raised his eyebrows at a stunning woman in front of him… who appeared to be all looks, no brains.

"Okay. They all do that. Can you be more specific? I mean, do you have any sailing experience?"

The thing closed Martha's eyes, searching her memory, then it said, "No."

"Are you travelling alone?"

"Yes."

"I'm obliged to tell you, it's not safe to be out on the open ocean alone," said the man.

"I'm not interested in your opinion. Just give me a boat."

He shrugged. "All right. I've done my part, legally, as far as that goes. However, you'll still need to sign some papers…"

"I don't have time!" Martha's voice shrieked.

"I'm sorry – I cannot even accept payment from you until you have read, and signed, the declaration, the rental agreement, and the waiver. That is the rule."

"That's ridiculous!" the thing spat at him.

"Maybe so, but it's my job."

"Fine, show me where to sign, and let's get on with it!"

" _De inmediato, señora,"_ said the man, who now dug into a drawer at his midsection.

It took him a few seconds to produce the packet of papers in English, that looked dauntingly thick to the alien, who knew, from Martha's experience with renting a boat at this very same kiosk the previous day, that the process would now take _at least_ ten minutes… more, if one opted for insurance, the life-vest waiver, snorkelling gear, et cetera, et cetera.

It sighed heavily, and the swarthy man inside the kiosk was convinced that he was dealing with another beautiful, beach-spoiled, woman, who had no time for him, nor the world.

"Am I boring you, _querida_?" he asked, with an edge to his voice.

"Yes, horribly, but it looks like I have no choice," the thing said.

He looked at her with venom in his eyes for just a few moments, while she stared, with tedium, at the paperwork. Then, he sighed, and resolved to take as long as possible going through the text with her.

"All righty," he said. "This first page is the declaration… it asks you simply to state that your travel paperwork is in order, your driving licence as issued by your country is currently valid, et cetera, et cetera. Don't worry – I will help you understand, point by point. The first paragraph requires that you are who you say you are. Which reminds me, I'll need an ID."

The thing patted down Martha's pockets. "I don't have one."

The man seemed to take glee in sucking air through is teeth, and saying, "Oh, I'm sorry. Then I cannot rent you a boat."

The Epidromeas took a big, thick, indignant, lungful of air, and wound up to tell off this most ridiculous of beings, on a planet absolutely teeming with ridiculous beings, but then… it stopped. Martha's face changed from tight anger to surprise and wonder. It stared at the sky.

" _Señora?"_ the man said, seeing her attention drift. "Are we finished?"

"No, we are not," the thing hissed, slowly, as it realised what had happened. "We are just getting started!"

"Sorry?" asked the swarthy man, rather confused.

Martha's face lit up. "He's in the hotel! I don't know how he masked himself from detection until now, but he's in the hotel!"

"Who?"

"The Doctor! The wily Time Lord!" Her eyes shifted to the great big hotel up on the hill, less than a half-mile away. "He was out on the sea, but now he's double-backed. He's in cahoots with those do-gooders in the basement!"

"I'm sorry, _señora,_ I have no idea what you're talking about."

"It doesn't matter. I don't need a boat. I need a TARDIS."

And there was a subtle current of air that blew through the area – the man in the kiosk just barely felt it.

And on the beach, in front of a boat-rental kiosk on Mallorca, quite a confused Martha Jones stood, all alone in her own mind.

* * *

Francine Jones just wasn't sure how the Doctor's plan was going to work. She had said that it seemed "nebulous," and she didn't understand how anyone could know about the existence of "time anomalous" residual energy clinging to some living things. Knowing that the Doctor is a Time Lord didn't answer the question for her, and frankly, didn't mean much to her. She might be a bit irrational, and/or a hindrance to the process, but her daughter's life was at stake, and her survival depended upon something that Francine couldn't see. She was panicking… it was her prerogative as a mum.

And so, after a heated exchange between Francine and Donna Noble, Tish the relatively level-headed PR rep, stepped in. "I think what my mother is so ungracefully asking is, how could it be said that the Doctor did not drive Martha into something awful this time? I mean, all evidence suggests that…"

"…this whole thing started when he got here?" Donna asked, annoyed. "I'm so bloody sick of people thinking that! Correlation equals causation! Yeah, that's it! I mean, come on! In Pompeii, I get it, but Jesus! You people are clever!"

"Well, clearly, not clever enough, so tell us," Tish requested, calmly.

Donna took a deep breath. And then, "A few days back, the Doctor and I were in the TARDIS, just minding our own business, and, just out of nowhere, there was what the Doctor called, a potential security breach. It meant that there were aliens in the vicinity who had the potential to break through the TARDIS' standard defence system, though they had not done so yet. The Doctor changed the TARDIS' course, and the aliens followed us, which let the Doctor know that they were, indeed, coming after us. So, he pressed that blue button over there, on the console, which put an invisible hard shell around the TARDIS, and let the aliens crash into us. When they did, they literally bounced off us, and sent both ships careening in opposite directions."

"Ouch," Clive commented.

"Yeah, it was quite a ride," Donna confirmed. "Anyway, we tracked the other ship's trajectory, and realised it had made a beeline for Earth. We reckoned that meant it couldn't find us again, so it changed its tack. And, if you're looking for the Doctor, Earth isn't a bad place to begin. So, of course, the Doctor couldn't have it just knocking about on Earth, so we tracked it further, and realised it had come here, to Mallorca, specifically to this resort."

"What?" Francine asked, eyes narrowed, in disbelief.

"We didn't realise why, until the Doctor spotted a woman who seemed familiar to him. So we followed her, wondering if _she_ could be the key to it all… she led us back to you lot. As it turned out, it was Nadine."

"Oh!" Leo said, surprised.

"Once we realised that the whole family was here, the Doctor was convinced for a while that it was targeting Martha," Donna continued. "That it went after the Doctor's most recently-known association on Earth, thinking it could get the Doctor to respond. Again, not a bad way of operating, as we have seen… but that's not what it was doing. After it infiltrated Clive, and Martha told us about a time when it seemed to have infiltrated you, Francine, the Doctor realised who the alien was."

"Who? He knows _who_ this thing is?" Francine asked.

"Yes, it's called an Epidromeas. It's a species or society that can… well, infiltrate. Bodies, minds, souls, maybe… and it can hop body to body. You lot know that first-hand. And the Doctor told me that the Epidromeas had invaded Gallifrey – that's his home planet – ages back. They'd stolen some technology that let them track time-travel stamp codes or some such… I can't remember what he called it exactly. But it means that they can recognise energy left behind by time travel. Their instruments can track it, and the being itself seems to have some sort of low-level version of it, as well. You lot all have the residue on you – except Leo – because you were there, apparently, when the Doctor turned back time. Martha has it all over her because she travelled with him, I have it, and certainly, the Doctor does."

"Jesus," Francine groaned, putting a hand to her forehead and making her way to the lone seat in the room.

"The fact that the Epidromeas seemed to be making its way through your family led the Doctor to realise that it had scanned the Earth for the residue, and found a high concentration of it here, in Mallorca, because you are all here together. So, it started jumping from one of you to the next, trying to work out which one is the Doctor. Eventually, it found him this morning."

"Mum, it makes sense," Tish said, moving round the console to stand with her mother.

Donna made her way round, as well. "So, you see, it was a puzzle that the Doctor put together. He's a Time Lord, so he _knows_ that time travel leaves a residue on people in the first place. And if you work backwards from there… they invaded Gallifrey, they can jump bodies, looking for the Doctor…"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it now," said Francine, who now seemed to have a headache.

"Mum, you're standing in a spaceship that is bigger on the inside than it is on the outside," Tish pointed out. "And you're really going to question whether time energy exists on our bodies? Hasn't the time for holding onto disbelief sort of passed?"

"I suppose," her mum grumbled.

"And now you see how the Doctor did not push Martha into harm's way," Donna said. "She was already in harm's way – as were all of you. He's just trying to pull you out."

"And we appreciate it," Clive said, with a placating tone.

"I know, I know, you could argue that by getting involved with Martha in the first place, he put you all in this situation, over the course of time," Donna added. "But what good would that do? Besides, it was as much Martha's choice as it was his."

Clive laughed. " _That_ has always been abundantly clear. Hasn't it dear?"

"Yes," Francine admitted, grudgingly.

"Great, glad you feel that way," said Donna. "'Cause we don't have any more time to stand here and snipe at each other. Now… here goes nothing."

With that, she checked to make sure the sonic screwdriver was on the setting the Doctor had instructed. She then instructed them all to cluster in as close as possible near the console, all except Leo, who was to stand at least ten feet clear of the action.

Donna held the screwdriver aloft, and pressed the button. Within twenty seconds, the four of them were surrounded in a deep, blue light. The size of the corona, and the brightness, only intensified, the longer she held the button.

Clive had his arms around his wife and daughter; all three looked worried in the extreme.

"Does it hurt?" Leo asked them.

"It's a bit hot," Donna answered. "But we're not letting go!"

"God, Donna, I feel like it's in my pores! Are you sure this is going to work?" Tish cried out, uncomfortably.

"No," Donna said. "But do we have to go through this again? Have a little trust!"

"I do! It's just…" Tish exclaimed before closing her eyes, and biting down on her lower lip.

Donna was in agreeance – this experience wasn't pleasant, but it made a kind of sense. And it's what the Doctor had instructed, and obviously, it was better than any plan she could come up with…

After a minute and a half or so, the blue glow became so bright that everyone involved had to close their eyes, and a column of the light escaped above them, and seemed to penetrate the roof of the TARDIS. The light was accompanied by a ragged "whoosh" that seemed to penetrate their minds - the Doctor had warned them of this.

And when that happened, as instructed, Donna leaned across the console and pressed the blue button.

And ten seconds after that, all in the TARDIS winced, as they heard a giant, sickening _thud._

* * *

" _Señora?"_ a man near her said. "Hello?"

"Hello…" Martha Jones whispered back, completely lost in thought and wonder, still staring at the sky.

"I'm going to need to see your ID, if you want a boat."

She registered his presence on a two-or-three-second delay, and saw him standing there behind the counter of the boat-rental kiosk, where she had rented a small vessel for herself and the Doctor the day before. The man looked almost as confused as she felt.

"Erm, thanks, but, I don't think I'll need a boat," she said to him. Then she smiled. "Excuse me, can you tell me…"

"Yes?" the man said, after she didn't say anything for several moments. He now looked absolutely bored with her.

"Did I give you any information about myself?"

"Eh?"

"In the process of renting a boat, well… what did I say?"

" _Señora…"_

When the man looked at her with quizzical fascination, and, if she was not mistaken, a slight hint of fear, she covered her tracks. "Sorry… I've had some short-term memory loss." It wasn't a lie, she realised.

The man frowned, and said, "All right. Erm, you gave me no information – we had not got to that stage yet. You said you wanted a boat, and that you didn't have time for paperwork. I told you it was part of my job to see to it, and you said it was a stupid rule."

"Did I say what type of boat I wanted? Or where I was going with it?"

"No," he said, chuckling just slightly. "You just said you wanted one that went on the ocean, and that you were travelling alone."

"I was urgent about it?"

"Yes."

"Okay, thank you," she said, beginning to walk away. Then she turned back. "If I was rude, I'm sorry."

He looked mightily surprised. "That's all right, _querida._ Now that I know you have… how did you call it? Short-term memory loss?"

"Yes, well…"

"I understand that it wasn't rude. Just… well, bizarre!"

She turned fully around, once again to face him. "What did I say that seemed bizarre?"

"You said, _the doctor is in the hotel._ Or something like that. _The wily doctor_ …"

Martha's heart rate began to increase drastically. "The Doctor is in the hotel?"

"Something about how he must've double-backed, and people in the basement…"

"Whoa. Okay, thanks."

"What does it mean?"

"It means…" she said, her eyes darting about, all over the beach and the hill. She gazed at the hotel. "I'm not sure. But thank you, you've been most helpful. Sorry to take up your time."

With that, she turned and walked away from the kiosk, pulled her mobile phone from her back pocket, and texted Donna. "I'm back. Remember sex trauma. WTH is happening?"

* * *

 **WTH, indeed? :-D**

 **Let me know what you think, my friends! Make my week!**


	26. Chapter 26

***crying emoji* This is the second-to-last chapter, mis amigos! It's been a fun ride, this...**

 **But before we start weeping, we still have to wrap up the Epidromeas' adventure, and finish telling the story of Martha and the Doctor, and their each-other angst!**

 **Remember, Martha's on the beach, having just been vacated by the Epidromeas, and her family plus Donna are in the TARDIS, doing something nebulous with the sonic screwdriver...**

 **And away we go. For the second-to-last time!**

* * *

TWENTY-SIX

"WTH is happening?" Martha had texted Donna. She found a spot under a palm tree, where she could more easily read her mobile phone's display.

The last thing she clearly remembered before "coming to" on the beach a few minutes ago, was standing in the TARDIS console room with Donna and the Epidromeas in the Doctor's body. She had tried to convince it to take her instead… apparently it had listened. It had sensed love in the Doctor's hearts and mind, and reckoned he would do its bidding, if it held Martha Jones hostage…

After that, she had vague memories of pacing about inside the TARDIS, threatening Donna somehow, though she wasn't sure how. And she had a very faint sense of having walked down this hill with the intention of finding the Doctor, and with murder on her mind…

"Oh God," she groaned. She sent a second text to Donna. "Doctor is with you?"

"No, he is on a boat. Come back to hotel. Will explain," a text came back, a minute later.

"Epi? Where is it?"

"Just come back."

She sighed. She realised then that she had no idea if the person texting her was really Donna. She also now had no idea where the Doctor was - in the hotel, or on a boat. Why had the alien been convinced enough that the Doctor was on a boat, to make a deadly beeline for the shore and for a boat-rental kiosk, but then, convinced enough that the Doctor was in the hotel, to go after him there? And why would it do that, considering that she and Donna had already convinced it that being in the Doctor's body guaranteed it an impossible Catch-22?

She didn't know what her best course of action was, but it certainly wasn't to stand right there under the palm tree, waiting for a sign from the cosmos. She needed to go in one direction or the other.

First question: what was her priority?

The Doctor. She needed to know where he was, and if he was okay.

She realised that she was now putting the Doctor's health and safety over that of her entire family, but in her gut, it made sense. The future of the planet might depend upon it. Also, sickening, blinding, panicky love would be driving her every action, until she knew he was safe.

She ran over the sand back to the kiosk. The same swarthy man was still there, of course.

"Hello again. Or… perhaps for you, it's the first time we've met?" he suggested, with a smirk, making a joke in poor taste about Martha's supposed 'short-term memory loss.'

"How long have you been on duty?" she asked him.

"I don't know… three hours? Why?"

"Did a man in a brown pin-striped suit rent a boat from you?"

"Our company's Senior Safety Inspector came through about an hour or so ago, and took one of the speed boats out for a spin," he said. "And yes, he was wearing a brown pin-striped suit. It was interesting – I've never seen one of the suits actually _come down here_ and _drive a boat._ Seems highly reasonable, and yet, this was the first of them that hasn't sent a contracting mechanic to do the inspection itself."

"Okay… did he have dark, spiky hair? Trainers on his feet?"

"Yes, why?"

"Did he show you 'credentials' to let you know who he was?"

"Yes, why?"

"And that allowed him to bypass all the paperwork?"

"Yes, of course. Why?"

"Has he brought the boat back yet?"

"No. And again, I ask _why_?"

"Oh, er, I need to find him, is all," she said, agitated, turning toward the ocean. She saw numerous dots upon the horizon, and wondered if one of them was him. "You don't have a way of contacting individual boats, do you?"

"We have a tracking system for each one, yes," said the man. "But we are not supposed to use the communications device unless it's an emergency."

"Please can you use it now? It's an emergency of sorts."

"Of _what_ sort?" he asked, looking at her sceptically.

"I can't tell you," she whined. "I don't suppose you could just trust me?"

" _Querida,_ " he said, with a bit of a weary sigh. "How many times are you going to ask me to break the rules? I need my job. I know it doesn't look like much, but the hours are flexible, and it pays the rent."

"I don't doubt that, it's just…" she felt anger and panic welling up again. She actually jumped up and down and rung her hands a few times. "Look, what if you get that boat back here with that Senior Safety Inspector in it, and he will put in a good word with the higher-ups, and see that you get a rise in your salary."

"I get hourly."

"A rise in your hourly, then," she said, impatiently.

He narrowed his eyes. "Who the hell _are_ you, anyway?"

She opened her mouth to answer, though as yet, she had no idea what would come out of it.

That's when an alert came from somewhere inside the kiosk. "What is that?" she asked.

"One of the boats is coming back in," he said, turning to inspect computer screen. He squinted. "Oh, you're in luck. It's your Safety Inspector."

Her heart began to beat faster, and it was all she could do not to leap into the air and scream. "Thank you!" she cried out.

And the man had the acute sense that he shouldn't have said anything. He could have pretended to get in touch with the boat and call it back in, thus giving the woman what she wanted, perhaps getting his rise, and all without breaking any rules. But alas, the damage was done. He sighed heavily.

At least this would make a good story to tell tonight, at the pub.

* * *

Martha ran up the set of stairs to the side of the kiosk, and sprinted down the wooden boardwalk that curved up, and over, a hill, and led down into an inlet where the boats were actually docked. She stood at the outermost railing, scrutinising every boat that she could see in the distance. She zeroed in on two or three speedboats, but did not see the one she sought.

Finally, she saw one coming from the right, heading straight toward the inlet, and as it got close, she could clearly see him – the only driver of any boat in the area, wearing a suit. The way he stood, and the way his hair blew back, was unmistakable. Her heart leapt into her throat.

She turned and saw an attendant in an orange vest guiding him in, and she walked swiftly down to the post where the Doctor would soon be docked.

She got there just in time to see the attendant tie off the boat, and the Doctor crawl out, and shake the man's hand.

The attendant walked away, and the Doctor turned and faced her.

For a split second, she reminded herself that she still didn't really know where the Epidromeas was, and why it had left her. She knew it had murder on its mind, and here she was, basically alone with it, next to the water, mobile phone vulnerably in her hand. One kick could send it tumbling into the water, rendering it useless, and freeing him to do terrible things...

But when he smiled, she knew. This was her Doctor. Those eyes could be no one else's.

They took a few steps forward towards each other, both clearly ready to burst. He grabbed onto her shoulders, and quite seriously asked, "Trauma?"

She smiled, and blushed a bit, taking her eyes from his.

This reaction needed no assent, no words. And in that moment, _he_ knew as well. She threw her arms around his neck, he lifted her up, and they pressed themselves into one another, into a kiss that felt like it had been brewing for ages. It had been less than twelve hours since their tryst, but in that time, they had been through the wringer. It _had_ been ages of drama, uncertainty, fear, and more trauma…

But no longer. Their lips and tongues burned against each other, and their bodies felt stirred, agitated in that swelling, glowy, wonderful way. And yet, there was comfort, certainty, familiarity… each other.

There was each other.

* * *

They took their time climbing the hill toward the hotel. When they were on the resort grounds again, and on even land, Martha pulled the Doctor's arm in close, and laid her head on his shoulder for a few moments as they walked.

"So, where is it?" asked Martha.

"Erm," he hesitated, a bit reluctant to admit the truth. Then he sighed. "I'm pretty sure it's dead."

"We killed it?"

"I killed it. It was my plan."

"That's not like you."

He stared off into the distance. "It's a lot more like me than I want to admit," he told her. "It's just… given what I know of the Epidromeas – or rather, what I _don't_ know – I had no idea how to contain it, without a body."

"You could have just let it have me for a while longer," she said. "Turn me in to the Galactic Council, or whatever. Not that I'm judging."

He shook his head. "The Epidromeas would have begun its spiel as soon as we hit the door, and the seed would have been planted in the minds of the Council to reduce the Earth's status… again. They already hang by a thread where that's concerned, and I don't have the energy to go in there and campaign for Sol 3 at level five _again._ More to the point, I'm not sure I'd have the clout anymore."

"Why not?"

"I destroyed my own planet," he answered quickly. "Doesn't breed trust, Martha. Especially not in the grand matters of planetary relations."

"Right. So... the Galactic Council think we're level-four material?" she asked, a bit disheartened.

"More or less, depending who's in charge," the Doctor answered, absently. Then, "If I'd taken you to them… their extraction methods for non-corporeal entities is… we'll just say, _indelicate."_

"It would have hurt me?"

"Yeah - a lot. Maybe permanently. I mean, it's not for sure, but… I wasn't going to chance it. And, it might have taken me months to work out how to build a vessel to trap the thing. By then, it could wreak havoc on all of our lives."

"I see."

"I wasn't willing to risk your mind, your sanity, or any part of you. And I wasn't going to allow it to mess with us anymore. The Jones family has seen enough life-and-death alien rubbish to last a lifetime, and I… well…"

"Yes?"

"I wanted you back. I just wanted…" He trailed off again, and watched the lawn beneath his feet.

She chuckled. "Yes?"

"I don't know how to put it," he sighed. "I just wanted… you. With no obstructions. Nothing in the way, no verifying safeguards every time we talk, no insidious trauma, none of that rubbish."

"All right."

"I mean, you and I are embarking on something totally new, here, and…"

"We are?" she said, stopping to face him.

"Aren't we?" he asked, stopping as well. His face registered surprise and concern. "I mean… yesterday and… well, last night, I…"

"I guess I thought maybe it was just, you know, a means to an end."

"It was," he said. "But that's not all it was. Unless you _want_ that to be all it was. I can walk away, if you'd rather."

"You're kidding, right?"

He smirked. "No. But thanks for asking. That actually makes things much clearer."

She smiled, and they held hands tightly now.

They were silent for a few minutes, and they reached the side door of the hotel, where Martha and her family had been coming and going for days. They entered the building, and pressed the button for the lift. As they waited, Martha asked, "So, non-corporeal?"

"Well, not completely," he said. "The Epidromeas has the ability to make its corporeal self irrelevant."

The doors opened. A man in a yellow polo shirt stepped off, and they stepped on, and headed to the basement.

"What? Its body becomes _irrelevant_? How's that?"

"Well, it doesn't exactly _leave_ its corporeal form, but… well, it's almost like its matter turns to vapour. Or thought. Or a permeating mass of sentient energy. Something like that. It's why they're so insidious. They can infiltrate, invade, et cetera, without giving up their bodies. It's a very clever adaptation."

The lift doors opened upon the basement, and they stepped into the hallway.

"Clever," she agreed. "And terrifying."

He walked ahead of her, moving toward the storage room door. "Terrifying, indeed. And they can reconstitute their bodies at any moment. Case in point…" he said, placing his hand on the doorknob and pushing the door open.

Martha stepped through, and her eyes were drawn to the TARDIS.

Though, hovering just above, and slightly in front of, the blue box, there was what looked like splattered lasagne.

"What the…" she mused, moving nearer.

"Er, Martha, maybe don't look too closely…"

"Oh, my God!" she shouted as she got nearer. Her hands flew to her mouth.

Having heard Martha shriek, Donna stepped out from the TARDIS. She looked up at the mess that seemed to be hovering in mid-air, with distaste. "Yeah. Charming, isn't it? We saw it a few minutes ago… made everyone gag, so we just went back inside to wait for you two."

The Doctor took a deep breath, studied the alien that had crashed into the TARDIS' hard shell, and said to it, with a sigh, "I'm sorry. Seemed like the only way."

"How the hell did you do this?" Martha asked, turning to the Doctor, in disbelief.

He gestured to the TARDIS. "I had Donna and your family gather in the TARDIS, then gave Donna the sonic code for ramping up their time-anomalous energy - the stuff that sticks to us all, as we travel through time. I lured it far away, out to the beach, so that when Donna pressed the button, it would gain momentum before flying into the forcefield at full speed."

"It thought you double-backed," Martha mused, realising, remembering what the boat-rental guy had told her she said, seemingly just before the Epidromeas left her. "It detected a high concentration of time stuff, and…"

"…I reckoned it would have a kneejerk reaction," the Doctor added. "Abandon its host without hesitation, and run to where it felt the energy mounting. And… _voilà_."

The three of them now fixed their gazes upon the sickening mass of red and white blood, bone, and tendon.

After several moments, Donna asked, "Well, how do we clean it up? I mean, I thought about disarming the hard shell, but thought that would be a right nasty mess… it would, you know, go _splat_ on the floor."

"You're right," he said. "I can't come into the TARDIS until the shell is down, so Donna, will you go inside and find a tarp? Ideally, a plastic one? If it's going to go _slpat_ we're going to need something to catch it, so it doesn't damage the floor… and it's going to fall on _your_ side of the barrier."

"Sure," she said. "But is there any way you could tell your favourite sentient ship to quit changing the floorplan on me, while I'm looking for something?"

"What? She'd never do that to you!"

"Heh!" Donna chuckled, stepping back into the blue box.

* * *

 **I predict that some readers might be disapproving of the Doctor's methods here...**

 **But how do you, indeed, solve a problem like the Epidromeas? Talk about catching a cloud and pinning it down!**

 **Either way, please leave a review with your thoughts!**

 **And stay tuned for the conclusion to this story! :-)**


	27. Chapter 27

**This is the final chapter! The subdued conclusion, if you will. I don't know what else to say, except thanks for reading... And I've really enjoyed writing Donna and Martha together! Maybe look for more of that from me in the future!**

 **So, here's chapter27. The Doctor has killed the Epidromeas... used its own greed against it, sort of. The threat, for now, is vanquished, so now what?**

 **(I think you'll also find in this chapter that I've enjoyed writing for Francine. I dunno... something about the Doctor and Martha having their fun, and Martha's mum getting all twisted up in knots over it... it's just so entertaining for me. Also, I think her trepidation concerning the Doctor's influence on her daughter is understandable, and given how outspoken and occasionally passive-aggressive she can be, it just felt right to have her give them the business in the final chapter. Of course, everyone sort of gives her the business right back!)**

 **Above all, I hope this gives you a few feels, and a few smiles. Of course, I'm hoping you'll let me know ;-)**

 **And, here we go...**

* * *

TWENTY-SEVEN

Martha and Donna helped the Doctor wrap and transport the Epidromeas' remains to cold-storage in the TARDIS. According to the Doctor, there was an entire planet that served as a cemetery, where one could give a proper burial to any being who could not, for whatever reason, be transported back to its home turf.

"Too dangerous to take it back to its own planet," the Doctor had explained. "They'd be all over me the minute we got within ten thousand miles of the Epidromean atmosphere."

"Couldn't we just teleport in, quick-like, and then leave, before they find us?" Donna wondered.

"They stole Gallifreyan technology, ages back, remember? I'm thinking they'd be able to sense us coming, and put the TARDIS in suspended animation while they gather their forces, and we'd never feel it. The Gallifreyan High Council used to do it all the time with war criminals."

They shut the door to cold storage, and Donna asked another question. "Will we have to answer for this killing, in some way?"

The Doctor sighed. "If the Shadow Proclamation or the Galactic Council find out, there will be an inquiry, perhaps. But that's good. They _should_ look into a death like this, even though they will find it was, basically, justified."

"What would you say?" Donna asked, worry in her eyes.

"I'd tell the truth," he sighed. "It was jumping from human to human, wanted to usurp my influence in order to essentially strip-mine the Earth and leave humankind for dead. Non-corporeal unless it _decides_ to become corporeal, and/or until it is dead… hence, no way to capture nor contain it."

"Are we going to fess up, or just wait and see if they find us?" Donna wondered.

"I don't know yet," the Doctor said. "Blimey, you ask hard questions."

"Well… this bothers me, and I know it bothers you, too," she said to him.

"Yeah," he sighed.

"Though, I totally get that we didn't have much choice," she qualified. "I was feeling right buggered, until we got you back. I mean, it moves from person to person... totally unseen. It _wafts._ It wasn't like one of us would be able to just catch the thing under a teapot lid or something."

The three of them began to walk back toward the console room.

The rest of the Jones family had long-since left the scene, having been encouraged by the Doctor to regroup, and enjoy the rest of their well-deserved time on Mallorca. Their holiday from alien hijinks had turned into more alien hijinks, and the Doctor reckoned they were in line for some proper R&R, without worrying about dead aliens, time residue or anything other than sangria and sun.

As they walked, the Doctor mused, "It'll be a while before we can bury it. The TARDIS will be out-of-commission for a time. This much close sequential use of the hard shell… she's exhausted. Beyond exhausted."

The vessel groaned in response.

Before they arrived at the console room, the Doctor stopped. They were in a rotunda-like space with several hallways branching off.

"She's going to shut down in the next hour," the Doctor told them. "Shut down cold, and lock us all out. It's the only way she can recupe her energy with any sort of efficiency. The temperature in here will drop to freezing, and even the Time Rotor will go dark. Donna, you and I have got sixty minutes to gather up what we need and get out."

"Okay," she said, heading for the hallway leading to her room. "How many clothes d'you reckon I'd need?"

"Play it safe: a month's worth."

She nodded, and headed down the corridor.

Martha grabbed the Doctor's hand. "Meet you poolside in an hour?"

"Sure," he said, kissing her on the cheek, and heading down a different corridor.

* * *

Donna gave Martha and the Doctor a bit of space, just to be _honestly,_ together for half a day or so – they had earned it. And not just over the past few days. They needed hours unfettered by uncertainty, ruses and interference.

But as the sun went down, Donna and Tish approached the pool and found the brand-new lovers sitting at a table, having cocktails with their feet up.

"Hi, you two," Tish said. "How's it been?"

"Heavenly," Martha said. Then she tapped her temple, and said, "Nobody in here but me. I'll never take _that_ for granted again."

"Amen to that," Donna agreed. Then she gave the Doctor a _look_ that said, _put your feet down so I can sit in that chair._ He obliged, and she sat. Martha made room for Tish.

"We've drawn up a plan," Tish reported.

"A plan?" Martha asked.

"Yes, a plan, for the next month, while the TARDIS convalesces, or whatever it's doing."

"Really?" the Doctor asked, amused.

"Well," Tish began explaining to the Doctor. "We started talking and we realised, in a week, my family and I are leaving. Martha will be free to go, and Donna and the Doctor will be stuck here for an additional three weeks together. That doesn't make any bloody sense, now, does it?"

Martha and the Doctor looked at each other. "I suppose not," he conceded. "In a manner of speaking."

"So, we came up with a solution," Donna continued. "Step one, you do some ultra-clever, geeky, sonic-screwdriving, computer hack work, and get Martha's return ticket to London changed to my name. I have my passport in my bag – just fiddle with the airline's info so I can go home with the Joneses in a week. I'll go visit my granddad – and my mum, if I must – and wait out the rest of the month. When the TARDIS is ready, you and Martha can come collect me – God knows I'll be ready to get out of there by then – and we'll get on with our lives. On to the next adventure… the three of us."

Again, Martha and the Doctor looked at each other. They hadn't yet discussed the possibility of her returning to the TARDIS' travels.

Donna read this in their expressions, and said, "Okay, I know what the two of you are non-verbally saying to each other, and I get that… but really, who do you two think you're kidding? Certainly not me! _Of course_ Martha is going to travel with you again, Doctor – the pair of you can't live without each other anymore. Even if _you_ can't see it, I can. And me, I'm inviting myself as the third-wheel because I love you both, I love the travelling, the TARDIS, et cetera, et cetera, and you can't just abandon me altogether for your ex."

She winked at him then, which made him laugh.

"Okay, point taken," he conceded. "Though, I'd never abandon you, Donna."

"Good. Just make sure I don't hear, you know _noises_ in the middle of the night, okay?" Donna scolded, with an index finger aimed at both of them. "The TARDIS is big. Go find a bedroom that doesn't share a wall with mine."

Tish cleared her throat. "So, between now and when we leave, there are a couple of options," she continued addressing the Doctor, every bit the business-like PR specialist that she was. "Option one: Donna can stay in my room with me, and the two of you can take up residence in Martha's room, and we can all finish out this holiday, as one big happy. If you do that, however, you'll have to contend with questions, eyerolls, innuendos and just general pain-in-the-arse meddling from _Francine_. The rest of us are cool, but our mother, as you know, is…"

"Yeah, I get it," the Doctor said, with a slight smile.

"Or, the other option is, Donna can take Martha's room, and the two of you can go find somewhere else on Mallorca to spend the next month of your lives, alone together."

"Leo and Nadine suggested camping," Donna offered. "Apparently tent-sex is amazing?"

"Ugh," Tish groaned. "Why? _Why_ does he say stuff like that to me?"

"To make you squirm, and it works," Donna said, simply. "Anyway, the island is rife with resorts, hotels, bungalows, beach houses, treehouses, cabins, B&Bs, even houseboat rentals… you could easily slip away into your own little world, and not have to emerge until you're good and ready, and have all of your clothes on."

Martha looked at the Doctor. "Actually, if you don't mind, I'd like to finish out my family's holiday," she said.

"Okay," he answered easily, nodding. "Donna and I could go off and see the sights or something, if you'd rather just have this time with the Joneses."

"Actually," Donna cut in. "Tish and Nadine and I are going to the Mallorca Fashion Outlet on Sunday. And I'm going to do that hike with them… the one they didn't get to do today. That's what? Monday?"

"Yeah," Tish confirmed.

"And I want you to stay," Martha said to the Doctor. "I do want to be with my family, but also with you."

" _Touché,_ " said the Doctor with a smirk.

"Come with us," Donna said to the two of them.

"Count me in," Martha said.

"Well, I'll do the hike, but I'll skip the fashion thing," the Doctor sighed. To Martha he said, "Maybe while you're fashioning, your dad and I can have an _actual_ round of golf, that doesn't involve scrutinising his behaviour for evidence of an alien presence."

"Sounds boring," Martha joked.

* * *

Over the next week, Francine Jones asked the Doctor and Martha a total of approximately two thousand inappropriate questions, and pointed out their behaviour in wicked-obvious ways, another three thousand times.

On the night after the Epidromeas was vanquished, the Time Lord and his Companion were (admittedly, avoidably) late to dinner. They rushed into the hotel restaurant, holding hands, Martha's hair having been clearly quite hastily tied back, with her bangs still hanging in her face. The Doctor was wearing a navy blue t-shirt untucked, and his usual pinstriped trousers, though, he had leather flip-flops on his feet, and an absent, harried expression on his face.

"Smooth," Donna muttered, as he sat down beside her.

He gave her a warning look, then apologised to the table.

Everyone waved off the apology with a smile, except Francine.

"Fifteen minutes late," she commented, with a strained, bright voice. "Were you two out and about today? Delayed coming from across the island, perhaps?"

"No, mum," Martha said, indulgently. "We came from upstairs. We just lost track of time. Any other questions?"

Clive made a gesture for Francine to stand down, which he'd done a dozen times in the last twenty-four hours, though she never really took heed.

The Doctor cleared his throat, and set himself to the task of reading the menu. It was uncomfortable, and the rest of the week would probably be just like this, but he reckoned it was worth it, to be with her. Her mother was hardly the worst thing he had ever faced, though he thought perhaps Martha might be the best thing that ever happened to him. At least, the best thing in an unfathomably long time.

And, if they didn't go through this whole Francine Rigmarole now, they'd have to do it later, so… _allons-y._ Besides, he knew that Francine, in her heart of hearts, didn't really disapprove of him as much as she wanted him to think. She was simply reacting to her very gut-level fear that Martha wasn't safe with him, the discomfort of being confronted with her child's sex life (and/or the fact that her children _had_ sex lives), and the idea that Martha didn't particularly care what she thought about these things.

If she did, in her heart of hearts, think he was truly bad news, he reckoned she would be a lot more aggressive about it. Like, say, slapping his face and warning him to keep away from her daughter…

…barring that, he figured, they were all headed in the right direction.

Though, he and Martha made sure to _keep track of time_ from now on. If a Time Lord couldn't do that, then what was the point of him, after all?

* * *

There was a luau-like bonfire event in the resort's main courtyard after dinner. Clive, Francine, Tish, Leo, Nadine, Keisha and Donna all attended, and enjoyed the music, dancing, and free Sangria.

"Martha and the Doctor aren't here," Francine said to Tish, trying (and failing) to sound matter-of-fact.

"Nope."

"They were holding hands under the table at dinner," she added.

"Were they? That's kinda sweet."

"Sure, if you want to call _can't-keep-their-hands-off-each-other_ sweet."

"I do."

"I call it inappropriate."

"Well, to each his own, I suppose," Tish said to her mum, innocently.

Francine gave a mildly exasperated sigh, then, "So, what, are they doing that _Volar con las estrellas,_ parasailing thing tonight? Martha mentioned she might like to."

Tish smiled. "You _know_ they're not."

"They must've had plans for _something_ else, since they're not here."

"D'you mean, there must be something they'd rather be doing, apart from standing next to a fire, watching people get drunk and make small talk with strangers? 'Cause yeah, I reckon you're right. There _is_ something they'd rather be doing," Tish told her mum, with a chuckle.

Just then, a waiter walked past, with a tray of Sangrias. Tish grabbed one, and put it in her mother's hand. She then put an arm around Francine's shoulders, and said, "Holiday. Mallorca. Resort. Booze. You are literally in paradise. Others are clearly embracing it – why aren't you?"

* * *

So went the week. The family (including Donna and the Doctor) came to realise that Francine rather enjoyed making the inappropriate comments. At the very least, if she didn't make them, she would be stifling some strong emotions, and that wasn't good either. In any case, Francine had as much fun as anyone, while still expressing her malaise over Martha's new relationship. No-one, least of all Martha, let it ruin the holiday.

Though, when it came time for the Jones family and Donna to fly home to London, Martha and the Doctor were ready for some _real_ alone time. They stood at the bottom of the resort's driveway, and waved, as two taxis drove away toward the airport.

When the cars were out of sight, Martha asked, "So, what now?"

"Well, I'll check on the TARDIS, to see what kind of progress she's made," he said. "Then, the world is our oyster. Or, at least, this island."

"I think we should check out of here, and find somewhere completely different. A bungalow on the beach, or a B&B in Palma or something."

"Both sound amazing," he said lightly.

"Shall we go pack our bags for our next adventure?"

"Sure," he agreed. "You call the front desk, and I'll call a taxi."

She laughed. " _I'll call a taxi._ Wow. Those are words I never thought I'd hear you say," and she turned to walk back toward the hotel.

He stopped her, by grabbing her hand. She turned back around and he pulled her in for a kiss.

Then he pulled away, and took a breath. "You know I love you, right?"

She smiled, her eyes flooding just a bit. "More words I never thought I'd hear you say."

 **End**

* * *

 **Thank you again for reading! Please leave some thoughts for me - make my week!**

 **I've mentioned that I'm planning a continuation of this story... a (basically) stand-alone sequel that might carry a tiny thread from this story's plot. The Doctor and Martha's newfound romance will stand, of course, and Donna isn't going anywhere for now... so I hope you'll stay tuned!**


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